Cry Havoc
by ArtemisEmerald
Summary: Stiles wakes up one morning, a week before his seventeenth birthday, to find his world has drastically changed. The following day proves that this change might not have been for the better. Contains: Magical Stiles, pack love, slash. This is A/U after season 2. Please read internal Authors notes for more info.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Ivory Bow

Author: ArtemisEmerald

Disclaimer: …So don't own, believe me

Word count: 2153

Rating: PG-13

Characters/Pairings: Stiles/Derek (eventual), Scott/Isaac (eventual), Erica/Boyd, Jackson/Lydia Sheriff Stilinski, Danny, mentions of Allison and Chris

Summary: Stiles wakes up one morning, a week before his seventeenth birthday, to find his world has drastically changed. The following day proves that this change might not have been for the better. Contains: **Magical Stiles, pack love, slash**. **This is A/U after season 2. **

**A/N**: So I recently fell in love with Teen Wolf and marathoned the first season and a half in three days. Sadly, I haven't had a chance to get back to it, so it's A/U after the pool episode, but thanks to all you ficcers out there and the world wide web, I have a fair idea of what happened after…and if I'm wrong, well, then I liked the idea enough to use it.

**A/N 2**: I am a huge fan of get-together stories. I like seeing how the romance started and seeing the bumps along the way. So that's pretty much all I write. Also, this is all Stiles POV and I apologize for not having his voice down yet. First Teen Wolf fanfiction and all. Also, I fell in love with magical Stiles, so... Onward and Enjoy!

* * *

When Stiles woke up exactly a week before his seventeenth birthday, he felt wrung out, almost like he had spent the night running around town and the preserve without a break in his sleep. It was a feeling he most certainly didn't experience that often, not with his ADHD and a bad case of intermittent insomnia, which meant he was awake more than he slept at night. A glance at his alarm clock had him shooting up into a sitting position, mouth dropping open in shock, before he groaned and pressed one hand to his forehead and the other to his stomach when both complained at the movement.

"What the hell…?" He muttered, before letting out another groan at the sound of his own voice.

He was pretty sure that he hadn't gotten drunk the night before, but he felt like he had one hell of a hangover, one that usually arrived after sharing a full bottle of Jack with Scott. Something, he had to admit, they didn't do often because for one, Stiles hated feeling like this and two, alcohol was kind of wasted on Scott now.

Stiles thought back to the previous night with a frown. He had been doing research for the pack but had started getting tired around midnight. He had passed out almost immediately and there had definitely been no alcohol involved. He turned his head and looked at the clock again. Noon. He had slept for twelve hours straight with no liquid or pharmaceutical assistance. No wonder he felt so shitty. On a normal- _good_- night he was lucky if he got five hours straight tops.

Apparently, the realization that he slept twelve hours was enough to kick start his bodily functions because he suddenly had a bladder screaming at him. He slid over to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over, wondering if he was going to be able to make it to the bathroom in time, because even that little amount of movement caused his legs to burn like he had run suicides at lacrosse the entire practice. He had a feeling standing up was going to be a chore all on its own, let alone walking.

He pressed his hands into the bed and pushed up, eyes closed as he grunted through clenched teeth, his entire body screaming. Jesus Christ, this was worse than a hangover. The last time he had felt even remotely like this was the time he had caught the flu. Once he was standing, he held a hand to his forehead. He _was_ burning up.

"Son of a bitch," Stiles whispered to himself, keeping in mind the last time he spoke out loud. He grabbed his phone off the end table and shuffled towards his door, pressing his dads speed dial.

"_Stiles? What's wrong?"_

"Dad, I caught the damn flu," He replied, wincing as he raised his voice enough to be heard.

"_We don't have anything in the house besides aspirin. I'll stop at Mikes and pick some stuff up for you._"

Stiles had finally made it to the bathroom. He didn't bother shutting the door, knowing he was the only one home at the moment, "That would be awesome. Thanks da-…" He cut himself off as he caught sight of something in the peripheral of his eye as he passed the mirror on the way to the toilet. He frowned and took a step backward before looking himself straight on in the mirror. His eyes widened before he let out the most pathetic squeak as he pointed at the mirror, "I'm blue. Oh my god, dad, I'm blue!"

Stiles suddenly had a terrible thought and grabbed the waist of his sleep pants. He pulled at the elastic and looked down before whimpering, "_Everything_ is blue."

His dad was silent on the other end of the phone for a long moment before he replied, "_Oh. I'll…I'll be home in a few minutes. I'm not that far away actually. Just stay calm son." _

"Stay calm?" Stiles replied, feeling a bit hysterical, "Dad, even my hair is blue! Well, sort of blue. Actually, that looks kinda neat. Hey dad, when we get this straightened out, can I give myself blue tints?"

His dad sighed, "_Five minutes Stiles. And eat something. That will help."_

"What? Wait…" Stiles stared at the phone in his hand, "Does this mean you know what's going on?"

"_Five minutes._"

Stiles jerked the phone away from his ear when the phone beeped to let him know the call disconnected. He rubbed at his ear for a moment before turning to the toilet. Now that he knew his dad was aware of something, his panic receded some and with it returned the need to pee. Badly.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Stiles was sitting on the couch, morosely gumming away at a bowl of oatmeal. He wasn't the biggest fan of the stuff, but even the thought of toast caused his teeth and jaw to ache like he had just been to the orthodontist for a tightening of his braces. Which, you know, once they had come off he had never expected to feel again. So that kind of sucked, really.

The front door opened and his dad walked in, took one look at Stiles and his face crumpled up in an old grief. It answered one of Stiles questions of where this even came from. Everything about his father's posture screamed that this came from his mom.

"Oh, Stiles…" His dad whispered, shedding his jacket and hat before walking over to the couch.

Stiles just scooped up another spoonful of oatmeal to gum at with a grunt, a heavy frown on his face. He had been one of the token humans in the pack and had been slightly proud of that fact. That he could help the werewolves out without the need for anything supernatural to help. Now, well, now he wasn't sure what to think. It was all kind of too much at the moment, especially since he didn't have all the answers…or any, for that matter.

John sort of plopped onto the couch next to Stiles with a sigh before pulling Stiles into a hug. Stiles leaned into his dad in acceptance of the hug but didn't raise his arms to hug back. John sighed again, before reaching his back pocket and pulling out his wallet, "Your mom, well, she was a fairy."

Stiles eyes widened and he turned to stare at his dad, "What? She was?"

John nodded, "Wings and all," He pulled a photo, corners cracked with age, from a hidden slit in the wallet, "This picture was taken the moment I first saw her. I was out practicing with a camera for one of my classes at the academy and had accidently zoomed in on her. If I hadn't, well, I probably still would have met her because she knew I took the picture and she wanted it but there is less of a chance she would have ever told me her heritage."

Stiles looked at the photo and gasped. It was certainly his mom, but she was _glowing_ and had wings extending from her back. She had been wearing a strapless golden dress that made her waist length blond hair stand out and was probably accentuating the glow of her tanned skin. Due to what must have been wind, a cape or something similar was visible behind her, fanning out slightly. She had her hand up and was smiling gently at a bluebird that was resting on her finger.

"She didn't always dress like that," John said, touching a finger to the lily blossom on her hip, "Your aunt had just gotten married and Claudia was taking a breather from the festivities."

It wasn't her clothing choices that had caught Stiles' attention though. It was the wings. They were a clear pearl white and slightly opaque, with pure white and silver veins streaking and swirling through. The edges were shaped much like a bats, but looked so much more fragile, "Could she fly?" Stiles asked softly.

"She could and did. She even took you for a few midnight flights before you got to the age where you would start to remember them."

"You were never going to tell me about her, about that, were you," It wasn't a question.

"No, but it wasn't my choice. Not at first. When you were born, you looked like a human baby. There weren't many half human fairy children around, and none in Beacon Hills, so we just figured you took after me and left it at that. Your mom, well, she didn't want you to be jealous or upset because of what she was and you weren't. She said that it wasn't fair to you. So, she used her magic to hide that part of her away. And when she died, well, I just kept it up. Never saw the point of it, even after you started running around with those werewolves."

Stiles heart stuttered in his chest, "W-werewolves?"

John rolled his eyes, "Don't even. I've known Derek since he was in diapers and what he was just as long. Your mom was best friends with Talia."

"So…it wasn't cancer that killed her then."

"What?"

"Mom," Stiles looked up at John with narrowed eyes, "She didn't die of cancer. I've done enough research lately to know that. Fairies don't have the same kind of diseases humans do. Her magic would have snuffed out any sign of the cancerous cells as soon as it developed."

"No, she didn't. It was because of the Hale fire," John turned his gaze down to the photo clenched in Stiles hand, "Like I said, she was best friends with Talia Hale. Had been since they were kids actually. Their two families, the Hale pack and the Vista family had been allied in Beacon Hill for over a century. Because your mom was so close with Talia, it was decided that they would be the…" John trailed off, "Crap, I can't even remember what she called it. They were like the very center of this allegiance, bound through the Vista family magics. Your mom said they were chosen not only for their friendship but because they were the youngest and the magic was always strongest when cast on the young. The allegiance was supposed to be passed on to you and Derek, but with you thought to be full human, your mom and Talia decided it would be safer to keep the allegiance between them until either your aunt had children or they were granted grandchildren. Then the fire happened.

"When Talia died in the fire, something in your mom…broke. We told you it was cancer but it was something to do with her magic and the death of Talia. That was the point that she just…started to waste away. The allegiance was never reformed, mostly because nearly all of the Hale pack perished in that fire. It was the weekend that Laura was graduating high school so everyone had come to town, the entirety of the pack, werewolf and human alike."

Stiles eyes widened, "Derek told me that Laura and Peter had gone to get food in town because Talia didn't want to cook for so many people after the graduation. He never said where he had been at the time but…I remember Derek…"

John nodded, "Derek was spending the night here. For some reason, he got a kick out of you and your mom thought it was adorable. We were going to go out to the dinner as well, but…you kicked up a fuss; a huge tantrum that we had never seen come out of you before. We waited it out but by then we just decided it was too late to go. Then your mom collapsed into herself and a few minutes later, Laura showed up on our doorstep."

"Christ…" Stiles rubbed his forehead with his hand, thinking about how the whole thing was a bit of a mess. As he was doing that, he caught sight of his skin and pulled his hand away, "Hey, I'm not as blue."

"You looked like this when I came in. You mean you were worse?"

Stiles nodded, "Like a shade or two darker."

"Well, that's good then. I wish I knew more about this kid. It may be a good idea to think about calling your aunt."

Stiles nodded, before his mouth formed an O, "Dad, I can't go outside like this and there is a pack meeting tonight. If I give you a flash drive, can you drop it off with Scott and tell him I caught the flu?"

"Pack meeting? Scott?"

"Uh," Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, "We'll talk later. You really should get back to work."

John rolled his eyes again, "Just get me the drive."

TBC….


	2. Chapter 2

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary.

**PLEASE READ! **

**A/N: Right, now that I have everyone's attention. I am looking for a beta for this story (and possibly other stories maybe?) and also someone to bounce ideas off of, which means knowing a bit more about the Teen Wolf world than I do. This person can be one in the same if you can handle it. PM me if interested! Thanks! **

p.s. My need for a beta is the only reason you are getting this chapter early. Normally, I update once a week if I have completed chapters. Every two weeks if I don't. Please keep that in mind.

Onward and enjoy – Chapter 2

* * *

Stiles was curled up on the couch with the photo of his mom an hour later when Scott finally got around to calling, "_Dude, your dad said you weren't going to make it tonight_."

"Yeah, I caught something and feel like shit," Stiles muttered, his pale blue colored finger tracing the outlines of his mom's wings in the photo, "Dad thought it best that I stay home. Given that it hurts to even move, I kinda agree with him. Wouldn't want to pass this on to Lydia or Danny either."

"_Yeah, I guess. Hey, thanks for looking this stuff up though. It should help us figure out what's damaging all those trees out on the preserve." _

"That was kinda the idea. Scott, I gotta go. Bathrooms calling," Stiles said, sitting up to go do just that.

"_All right. Feel better dude!"_

"Bye," Stiles hung up the phone and tossed it onto the end table. Stiles felt kind of bad for lying to Scott, but Stiles was not blind to Scott's faults and one of them was that he just couldn't keep his mouth shut. Stiles was so not ready to come out of the closet about any of this even if over half of his friends were supernatural creatures themselves. Plus, he knew Derek had to know something about what he was and that he hadn't said anything kind of hurt.

There was a chance that Derek could be taking into consideration his dads feelings on the subject, or what he thought were his dads feelings but that didn't seem right. It wasn't his dad who decided that. So that meant…Stiles felt his heart flutter in his chest. Derek was still taking his mom's feelings into account even though she had been gone for almost eight years.

Stiles decided to let that go for the moment and climbed to his feet before making his way upstairs, the urge to shower nagging him on. He felt itchy all of a sudden, like ants or spiders were crawling all over him, and he knew the only way to combat that feeling was to shower. Especially since the buggy feeling would just get worse the longer he waited.

Stiles grabbed an outfit out of his room, another pair of sleep clothes because really, what was the point of getting dressed if he wasn't going out at all, and went into the bathroom. The tub faucet went on and after checking that the temperature was ideal, flipped it to shower and closed the curtain. He stripped down and, after a whimper at the sight of a blue dick and blue balls followed by a choked laugh because wasn't that the truth both literally and figuratively, he stepped into the shower.

And promptly let out a scream as soon as the water hit his back. The water felt like acid raining down onto him and he dropped to his knees in agony, unable to find the strength to move away. He dropped his hands to the floor of the tub to hold some of his weight and found himself staring down at blood and what looked to be chunks of skin. Before he knew it, he was hanging over the edge of the tub making a second acquaintance with his oatmeal.

Soon though, the blood and skin had, oddly, _dissolved_ enough to wash down the drain and the water started to feel amazingly good on his back, especially so once the water went cold. So good, in fact, that he was still in the shower, draped over the edge of the tub, two hours later when his dad came to check on him.

"Stiles?" His dad called, from right outside the door.

"Yeah, come in, its fine," Stiles muttered, just loud enough for his dad to hear him, "Don't mind the smell. The oatmeal came back for a visit." John stepped into the bathroom and Stiles tilted his head so he could look up at his dad, "I think the wings showed up."

"Uh…well" John was staring at his back, eyes wide as he watched a set of wings flutter and flap, "You're not flying."

Stiles shook his head, "I'm sure the lack of energy has a lot to do with that. Not to mention, I don't even know how to use them."

"Okay…going to call your aunt. Like, now. Think you can climb out of the tub?"

"Uhm, maybe? But it might be a good idea to close the curtains downstairs. Don't want to give the neighbors a show."

John nodded, "I'll grab some paper towel and 409 to clean that mess up, too."

Stiles gave him a crooked grin, "Best dad ever."

"And don't you forget it," John said over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

John was back in the bathroom a few minutes later, cleaning up the mess in front of the tub, "The curtains are closed downstairs so you can walk around. I uh," John eyed his wings again, "I wouldn't recommend putting a shirt on though. That might cause you a bit of pain."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that one," Stiles said, accepting the towel his dad handed him before leaning over to shut off the water. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stood up, using his dads shoulder for balance as he stepped out. The wings on his back, and wasn't that the coolest thing ever- it was really all Stiles could do from squeaking in excitement because _he had fucking wings_, was throwing him off kilter a lot more than they probably should, like an overly full back pack that he wasn't used to carrying around yet…and they didn't even feel like they weighed all that much, which made it all kind of pathetic really.

Once he was steady, John left him to his own devices to finally go and make that phone call. Stiles took a deep breath and stepped in front of the mirror, looking at his new appendages. They were shaped almost identical to his moms in the photograph, but instead of the pearl tinted white, his were navy blue swirled with silver and white veins. They matched his current skin color amazingly well.

When Stiles was dressed and at the bottom of the stairs, John met his eyes as he said, "He's right here Meranda. Of course. It was nice talking to you as well."

John handed the phone over to Stiles and went into the kitchen. By the sounds that suddenly started emitting from the room, his dad was digging through the cupboards for something, probably tea. Stiles held the phone up to his ear, "Hi Aunt Mer."

"_Hi baby boy,"_ his aunt's soft voice filtered back to him. He had always loved talking to his aunt, especially after his mom died. She had always been understanding, not just because it was her sister that died but because she had lost her husband the same year, "_I heard you had quite the shock this morning." _

"Well, you know. What's a little blue skin in the morning, right? The wings are pretty cool though and I am totally digging the hair. Slight problem though."

His aunt chuckled, "_And that would be?_"

"I can't go to school like this! I can't even go out in public! People already think I'm nuts. Let's add wings to the geek!"

*"_Mieczyslaw, calm down and listen to me. This is not the end of the world. I can tell you how to hide the wings in plain sight so you can go to school tomorrow. The blue skin will be gone by then as well. Well, it should be. It is babies that go through this, not seventeen year old children,_" She paused for a moment and Stiles steadied his breathing, which had picked back up at the use of his real name, "_Now, hiding them is a matter of will. But that will can be broken. We must teach you how to harness your magic so you can truly walk amongst humans without worry. We will do that when you come to visit, maybe earlier depending on what your grandfather says."_

Stiles touched the tip of his finger to one of his wings and gave a full body shiver, "How much will are we talking about here, because these wings? Are extremely sensitive."

"_Everyone's are. It's…rather rude to touch other people's wings for that reason. That sort of touch is kept between mates and most parents and children. This is going to make you very uncomfortable Stiles, but until you get here it has to be done. What I want you to do is lay down and relax. Completely relax, like you are about to fall asleep."_

"Er," Stiles pulled the phone away and gave it a dubious stare, "You know me Aunt Mer and how unlikely that is."

"_Actually, I have a theory about that but for now, just do it. I think you will find it easier than you think." _

Stiles shrugged and dropped down to the floor, and relaxed as much as he could given that he was laying on hardwood, "Okay," He said, his voice muffled by the floor, "Now what?"

"_Now, you are going to have to concentrate. Listen to your body and find the muscles in your back that are controlling your wings._"

"Seriously?" Stiles asked, unimpressed. He used to do this as a kid when it was the coolest thing ever to wiggle your ears. Scott had no trouble grasping that concept. Stiles just made himself look like an idiot. Now he had to do it again?

"_Relax and just try it._"

"Ugh," Stiles muttered before forcing his torso to relax. The wings were still fluttering behind him and he concentrated on the muscles of his back, between his shoulder blades where the movement seemed the strongest, "Okay, got it."

"_Good, now tense those muscles carefully, like holding your foot still when you want to twitch it._"

And oddly enough, for most people, that wouldn't have made a lick of sense, but Stiles had ADHD. He knew what it felt like to have to control his hands, arms, and feet when they wanted to twitch due to excess energy. So he stilled those muscles like he would with anything else, and sure as shit, the wings stopped their fluttering, "Holy crap, that worked."

"_Good! Now comes the hard part. I want you to relax and tense those muscles a couple of times, to get a feel of how they move._"

"Okay," Stiles followed her directions, stilling the wings and letting them flutter, "Aunt Mer, why are the wings even fluttering? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"_Fairies are creatures of magic. Our magic is an ever moving energy in our bodies and because of that, our wings seem to move on their own. In general, though, it is more that they show what we are feeling, better than any facial expression could. When we fly, we control them just like any other bird and when we are out in public among others it is only polite to hold your wings still. Now, do you understand how the muscles feel?_"

"Yeah, I think I got it."

"_All right, now, try to lower them. It will feel like curling your fingers into a fist, except you want to curl your wings into your back._"

"I…" Stiles started to say that there was no way he could do that, but then decided to try first. It wasn't as easy as it sounded, "They just dropped onto my back like a blanket. I have a feeling I didn't want to do that."

Aunt Merenda laughed, "_Not quite. Relax the muscles and try again. Remember to curl them in. Kind of like a bat would do."_

"Right, think bat. Like Batman or…oh!" Stiles exclaimed, "Dude! They folded up like an accordion. Hah, that was kind of cool." He expanded them back out again, so he could let them drop onto his back again, "It kinda tickles really."

"_I am proud of you for getting that, Stiles. And yes, it will tickle because they are brushing against each other. It will get worse when you put a shirt over top. Well, two shirts in your case. Whatever you do, do not set your backpack over your shoulder. You can bruise the lining or even break one of the bones."_

"Right," Stiles said, still playing with his wings and enjoying the feeling, "Oh, hey that gives me a question. How do we fly with these? Because going by our body mass, these wings should not only tower over me but drag on the floor in order to be big enough to lift me."

Meranda laughed, "_Magic of course. Now, you were already going to be up here for spring break, but how would you feel coming up Wednesday instead of Friday and then staying a week after?_"

"Well, I'm okay with it? But you're gunna have to convince dad because that's a lot of school to miss."

"_Baby boy, you are getting straight A's. I don't think a week is going to kill your GPA. Hand me back to your dad_."

"Okay. Love you Aunt Mer."

"_Love you too Stiles._"

Stiles climbed to his feet and practiced holding his wings still and curled into his back as he walked into the kitchen, "Aunt Mer wants to talk to you."

John cocked an eyebrow as he accepted the phone, "You got those under control quickly. Also, you feeling all right? You haven't had a nervous monologue or twitchy accident since I've been home," John asked before holding the phone up to his ear, "Seriously, Meranda? Is he okay? Because…oh…you think so? Well, he'll be happy about not having to take the Adderall anymore."

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at that, which, oh, that was her theory. That his ADHD had something to do with him not coming into his heritage until now…which, yeah, okay, kinda made sense, especially after Aunt Mer explained the whole what magic felt like thing. So, cool, no more Adderall. He could totally live with that. This whole fairy thing was starting to have a lot of perks.

TBC…

*pronunciation of Stiles real name (that I totally came up with since nothing is set in stone) is mye-CHI-swahf. I went with a polish name in this case, because they are usually the hardest to pronounce. Makes me kind of glad that when my Great-Grandfather's family moved here from Poland, he was raised of the belief that "you live in America you are American" and it stuck with him. (he wouldn't even teach my dad and uncles Polish, but dad thinks that's because when he swore he did it in Polish and didn't want them to know what he was saying) I would hate to think of what our family names would be like otherwise.


	3. Chapter 3

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/N: So, a couple of things. First off, there are some tropes in this fandom that I readily enjoy that aren't a part of the show. This story will contain two of them, _possibly_ three if my sister gets her way. Stubborn little shit. So, yes, I have seen the show but this is an A/U. I'm going my way.

Secondly, again, a plea to anyone if they are interested in beta'ing. Look at it this way, it's a sneak peek into what's going to happen later before anyone else. Oh – and a title change. It wasn't intentional for The Ivory Bow to be a stand in title but…it sort of happened. Sorry.

See end for more notes

Onwards and enjoy!

* * *

When Stiles woke up Monday morning, six days before his seventeenth birthday, he wondered in a sleep induced haze whether the day before had all been a dream. He no longer felt any pain throughout his body, from what he could see in the dim light coming in from the bedroom window his skin was no longer blue, and he felt…anxious and twitchy, like he hadn't taken his meds in two days. What convinced him that the day before had so very much _not_ been a dream was rolling over and letting out a blood curling scream as he landed square on his wings.

"Son of a fucking _bitch_!" He yelled, quickly rolling back over, gasping at the pain. It felt like he cracked his elbow on a door or landed hard on his tail bone, "Oh my god, I am never doing that again. Holy shit…"

"Stiles!"

"Sorry dad!" he yelled back through pained breaths, "Rolled over!"

John poked his head in the door, "Well, don't do that then."

Stiles rolled his eyes and pushed himself up onto his elbow, "Yeah, I totally did that on purpose. Wanted to see what would happen."

"Don't be a smartass."

Stiles smiled slightly, more out of relief as the pain started to diminish, "I'm always a smartass. It's my default setting."

This time it was John who rolled his eyes, "Don't I know it. Get a move on, you've got school in an hour and you were the one who said you were okay to go."

Stiles made a face and climbed out of bed. He was making his way down to the bathroom to take care of his morning ablutions when the weirdest sensation swooshed over his ears and he could suddenly hear his dad's heartbeat and breathing _a floor away._ Stiles stumbled to a stop and leaned against the wall in shock. Now this? Seriously? Because he did not need to add messed up senses to the list of all the shit that's happened in the past day alone. He was also suddenly annoyed at the fact that he had felt jealous over the rest of the lycan's for this ability because it _sucked._

As quickly as it had come on, the abnormal noises dissipated with another swoosh of the weird feeling and the world sounded right again. He stumbled back into his room and fired of a text to his aunt before finally making it to the bathroom. When he got back, there was a text waiting for him, telling him that it was certainly abnormal but that fairies had a higher ability than humans to control their senses. That it sounded like his magic was pushing his to find their limits before settling in.

"Great," Stiles mumbled as he whipped open drawers and his closet door to get dressed, "One more thing to worry about."

It took him all of a minute to find something to wear, the time consuming action being the tucking in of his wings into the least painful and annoying configuration he could find; which meant squished up against his back like an accordion with the bottom tips tucked into his jeans. He had spent the five minutes while performing that little task thanking God that the bottoms of his wings were the least sensitive bits out of all of it.

"Are you _sure_ you want to go to school today?" John asked as Stiles tripped down the stairs, backpack in hand, "I can't imagine you're very comfortable. Not to mention you still have a bit of a blue tint going on."

Stiles shrugged carefully, trying not to move his shirts too much. He had found, rather quickly after getting dressed, that the shirt fibers were very aggravating to the sensitive membrane of the wings. Which, yeah, membrane. Something else he was trying so very hard not to think about after he had done some further reading the night before. Turns out that for as much as the wings were a magical manifestation, they were very much a part of him. Meaning made up of bones and skin so thin it was actually called membrane. It still gave him the willies to think about, that the things had been hiding and growing in his back until his magic was strong enough to support them. Stiles gave a shiver. Again, not something he really wanted to dwell on.

"I'll be fine. And really, the blue tint just makes me look sick, so it kind of supports the flu story."

His dad gave a noncommittal hum as he shrugged into his jacket, "Speaking of the 'flu story,'" Stiles had to stifle a laugh when John made the actual quotations around the words, "We are going to have words when I get home tonight."

Stiles grimaced, "Yeah, yeah, I know."

John nodded, "See you later then. Behave please."

"I will endeavor to do my best. I make no promises," Stiles shot his dad a grin, "Love you."

John shook his head as he started towards the door, "Love you too son."

Stile's watched his dad leave before slipping into the kitchen. He made himself a quick breakfast of toast, hot enough to melt the peanut butter because melted peanut butter on toast was the best in Stile's honest opinion, and glanced through his homework once more before shoving it all into his bag. He closed it up, checked that he had lunch money, and made his way out the door.

He stared at his jeep for a moment, wondering how the hell he was going to manage this before squaring his shoulders and tossing his bag to the passenger seat. He cocked his head his head in thought as he looked over the driver's seat before leaning in and shoving it back as far as it would go. When he was satisfied that there would be room between the seat back and his wings, he climbed in and buckled up. Sitting on the bottom of his wings was proving to be a little awkward, but it was something that he was going to have to get used to for the next few days.

The drive to school was, well, weird in the fact that his body kept acting without his permission. It kept naturally trying to slouch back into the seat, but every time he got anywhere near it, his wings started to prickle even worse than they already were which game him the shivers. He was pretty sure that if any of the deputies saw him, they would think he was driving drunk with all the weaving around he was doing while trying to get comfortable.

When he got to the school, he felt slightly more in control of his wings (and body for that matter) and he hadn't had another episode with his hearing since that morning. The itchiness was to the point that he felt he could control it, so really, maybe he could do this. Maybe he could make it through the next three days with minimal problems. That thought bolstered his mood all the way up until he reached the doors. It would figure that it would be at that point that his hearing would go on the fritz again, because hey, look at his luck. He stopped just outside the doors, hoping the incident would be as quick as it had been the hour before. He didn't want to walk into the school looking like his head was about to explode.

Stiles smiled to himself as his hearing seemed to zoom in on Scott, who was laughing somewhere down the hallway. It made Stiles smile grow a little bit more, since his friend hadn't had much to be happy about since Allison moved away. He could hear Isaac teasing Scott about something that didn't make much sense to Stiles. Something about a monkey and chimpanzee mix up. He briefly wondered what had happened at the meeting last night but the thought left him when he heard Scott sober up and his friends voice ask, "_Hey, has anyone seen Stiles yet?_"

"_Who cares,"_ Another voice, Jackson by the sound of it and how sad was it that Stiles knew it at all. It was probably all the condescension dripping from it. That was pretty hard to miss, "_No, seriously, who cares. He's probably harping on being sick to miss another day of school and frankly, it will be a pleasant vacation, much like last night was. That was the best meeting since becoming a member of this stupid little group. Right to the point, fly through the shit part, and straight into pizza and a movie."_

Stiles raised an eyebrow. They had pizza the night before? And a movie? What the hell kind of pack meeting were they having? Every meeting Stiles had ever been to never included those two elements. And he had been to every one since Scott finally gave in and accepted Derek as his Alpha. Was this something that the pack used to do before they had joined?

"_Jackson…"_

"_Oh come on McCall. I get that he's your little buddy but even you have to admit that last night was pretty cool. Without Stilinski there to ramble on and on, we actually got to do something fun for once."_

Stiles pursed his lips. Jackson was such a dick sometimes. So he rambled, it's what he did. Between the ADHD and finding waaaay too many things relevant to the topic on hand, he tended to go on. He didn't waste the whole _meeting_ though. He mentally started urging Scott to tell that to Jackson, but the longer Scott was silent, the more Stiles began to panic.

Did they all think that? Even Scott? If that was the case, why didn't anybody tell him? Scott was usually one of the first to tell him to shut up or stuff it, followed by Derek usually. But if his rambling was so inconvenient, why didn't they say something about it at the meetings? He would have certainly stopped. Hell, he's usually grateful when someone tells him to shut up, anything to stop the embarrassment that tended to follow up the word vomit.

Stiles was reaching out to grab the door handle so he could march in there and confront Jackson, never mind that he was still scrambling to figure out how to explain how he had overheard in the first place, when the jerk continued, "_You know what? I'm going to talk to Derek tonight and see if we can't keep Stilinski from coming to the meetings. He's not even part of the pack anyway_," The last part faded out as Stiles' hearing reined itself in again.

He dropped his hand and sat down onto the cement wall along the edge of the stairs. Not pack? But…Stiles shook his head. No, that couldn't be right. Wouldn't Derek have said something? But then again, no one had explicitly said that he was either. It was entirely possible that Stiles had assumed the whole thing. Stiles snorted. Yeah, he knew the saying when it came to assuming.

He stood back up and carefully made his way back to his jeep, suddenly glad he had to park on the far end of the lot, where no one really paid attention to. When he reached the jeep, he pulled out his phone and called his dad to tell him that he wasn't quite as ready as he thought and maybe it would be a good idea to go up to Aunt Meranda's and Grandpa's earlier than planned.

* * *

"Okay, I called Emma at the station and she's going to pass it around to all the deputies to keep an eye on you and what you eat. If it seems like it's getting out of hand, one of them is going to ride with you," Stiles told his dad, tripping –yet again- down the stairs into the living room, two duffel bags hanging over his arm.

John gave an exasperated sigh as he handed over the train ticket he had picked up on his way home after work, "It's not like I'm going to be eating junk food the entire week, Stiles."

"Dad, every time I spend the night at Scott's, I come home to the place smelling like bacon. You are not as sneaky as you think you are."

"It's turkey bacon."

"Right, and I'm the Queen of England."

"All hail her royal highness!" John exclaimed, bowing to Stiles.

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Funny you are not. Seriously though. I made some meals for you this morning after I got home. There's enough in there for dinner the rest of the week and there should be enough for a lunch or two if you ration it some. I'll make some freezer meals at Aunt Meranda's for you to take back for the last week."

John pulled Stiles into a headlock, "You know, I'm pretty sure that the last I checked, I was the parent around here."

Stiles laughed and punched at John's stomach, "You are a fantastic parent. I just wish you'd look out as much for yourself as you do for me."

"Ah, Stiles," John said, transferring his hold from headlock to hug, "I will, okay? But I am only calling a three week truce. As soon as you're back, the status quo will fall back into place."

"I'll have to take it if that's the best I'm going to get. I won't have to worry as much."

"Kid, I think you'll be too busy to worry about your old man. And I'll be up there for a week. Are you sure you don't want me to bring Scott? I thought that had been the plan for this year."

Stiles shook his head and pulled away, "No. First line has practice every day over spring break. It was the plan before he made the cut. Uh," Stiles rubbed at the back of his head, "I…didn't tell Scott I was going up early either."

"Why?" John narrowed his eyes at his son, "You know, maybe now might be a good time to have that talk. You don't have to be at the train station for another half an hour yet."

"Look, things are…" Stiles gave a rough sigh and dropped down onto one of the stools in the kitchen, watching as his dad pulled a couple of water bottles out of the fridge, "Okay, here's the deal. You already know about Derek, so…Scott's a werewolf. He was bitten by an Alpha at the beginning of the year. Not Derek," Stiles added quickly when he saw his dads frown deepen, "But an Alpha that didn't have a pack – the one that caused all those murders that went on. Derek killed that Alpha and became one himself. Scott didn't actually join Derek's pack until a few months ago after Allison moved. He needed the stability of the pack afterwards because Allison had been Scott's anchor. Err, an anchor is…"

"I know what an anchor is, thanks," John said, interrupting Stiles, "Where do you factor into this pack?"

Stiles bit his lip and stared down at the table, "I don't."

"What?" John asked, voice surprised, "Werewolf packs do have human pack members. Wouldn't you have joined with Scott?"

"It…it's not as easy as that. It's not like joining a club at school. Dad, I'm good at research, but that's about it. That's all it was. I, well, I thought I was a part of the pack, but I found out today that I'm not," Stiles shrugged, "It's not that big of a deal. It's not like Scott is going to stop being my friend because I'm not."

"Ah."

Stiles looked up at his dad and raised an eyebrow, "Ah?"

"Well, I had a feeling something must have happened at school that caused you to change your mind. You told me you weren't ready on the phone, but you had been pretty adamant before that. I knew something wasn't right."

"See," Stiles said, with a soft smile, "This is why you're the Sheriff."

"Stop deflecting."

Stiles sighed, "I'm not. I got up to the school doors and my hearing glitched again. I could hear everyone talking. I homed in on Scott talking with Jackson and Isaac. Jackson said that the meeting last night was the best they had had since he became a wolf because I wasn't there. That was followed up by Jackson planning on talking to Derek tonight about me just not going back anymore. I guess I take up too much time at the meetings and I'm not pack anyway."

"Wait, Jackson's a wolf as well?"

Stiles glared at his dad, "That entire thing and that's what you took away from it?"

John waved a hand, "Sorry, it's just…it's Jackson Whittemore. Son, he's always been a bully to you and Scott."

"Yeah, I know. And I was all prepared to defend my honor but…Scott and Isaac didn't refute any of it. It's not something to worry about anyway. I'm still gunna research for them, I am surprisingly better at it than Danny given his history," Stiles gulped at the sudden glare that John gave him and quickly continued on, "But I'm just gunna, you know, do it at a distance now. Flash drives and stuff."

"Uh huh," John said, ignoring the part about Danny, "And how do you feel about that?"

"Well, it sucks obviously. I mean, totally and completely sucks. But I'll do what I have to. I may not be pack, but they still are to me. Even jerkoff Jackson. I need to keep them safe."

John smiled softly, "That's my boy. Now, what are we, and by we I mean I, telling Scott when he inevitably climbs through your window wondering where the hell you are?"

"Tell him the truth. Just…don't tell him where Aunt Meranda and Gramps live. I'm gunna need this time to get my head on straight and not just about the fairy stuff. It'll be easier if he doesn't follow me up there. 'Cause you know he will. He will blow off all his responsibilities if he thinks something is wrong. And he can't do that, not anymore. He's Derek's second now."

John nodded, "All right. I'll tell him you said that too," John paused, before a look of enlightenment crossed his face, "That's why you're taking the train instead of the jeep."

"Yeah. I love the old girl and it would be faster by almost seven hours to drive, but she gives off a particular smell to the wolves. I think something is leaking to be honest. Scott can follow it in a heartbeat now," Stiles glanced at the clock before standing with a stretch, "Well, train leaves in twenty. You ready for a week of freedom?"

"Bring it on," John said, knuckling Stiles head with a laugh.

TBC…

A/N 2: I still have no beta (other than my sister) so any mistakes you found are my fault. I have a tendency to write while watching what I want to happen play out like a movie in head. That also means I tend to write like people speak because more formal writing just _sounds_ weird to me. If you have any problems with that, let me know and I will try to edit that out somehow.

I also think I _might_ be getting a hang of Stiles voice, but I'm not quite there yet. Sadly, I got Jackson spot on in his first foray into the fic (I swear, I hung my head in shame when my sister told me that, and she's only seen three episodes so far). We'll see how I do with Derek when I get there. By the way…I love Sheriff Stilinski to pieces.


	4. Chapter 4

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/N: This chapter was looked over by both my sister and my new beta/helper She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Sane. Both have been so incredibly helpful! Thank you ladies!

Also, thank you for the reviews/likes/kudos whatever. I love it when people love my stories! – as do most authors I'm sure. XD

Onwards and Enjoy!

* * *

The ride to Tacoma, by train, was nearly twenty hours. Stiles was lucky in that his aunt and grandfather had paid for a sleeper cabin. Their reasoning was so that Stiles had a place to retreat to so he didn't have to spend the twenty hours hiding his wings. It was a valid idea and probably the only reason his dad agreed to them paying; sleeper cabins on the Amtrak weren't exactly cheap.

Stiles spent the first few hours before dinner holed up in the cabin, having the freak out that he didn't want to have around his dad. He had told his dad that it sucked that no one had considered him pack and that was true. But he didn't go into the embarrassment that he felt over his assumption; the embarrassment and the overpowering feeling of loneliness that shook him to his very core. Both, sadly, led to a panic attack.

It wasn't the worst one he had ever had, his first would always hold that title especially with the asthma scare behind it, but he was still on the meds for now and he had never had a prescription for anti-anxiety pills beyond the first one just after his mom died. They just didn't mix well with the Adderall. His way of compensating was to draw, a trick he had picked up from his mother when she used to spend the summer hazes with blank canvasses, the strong scent of acrylic and oil (she preferred paint) perforating the air, and scattered charcoal pencil that she let him play with on discarded boards. With his ADHD, it was one of the few hobbies that required intense concentration and with the infinite possibilities that came to drawing he couldn't grow completely bored with it.

Stiles had known, had _felt_ himself on the verge of an attack most of the morning and had made sure to pack his sketch pad, pencils, and charcoals in his carry on. And then hadn't been surprised when it hit an hour outside of town.

The concentration needed to make steady lines and intense detail was enough to take his mind off of his breathing, which allowed his body to regulate it back to normal. The tingling and numbness in his face and extremities slowly dissipated as well. He was left with shaky, charcoal smudged hands from the adrenaline with a tight chest from the hyperventilating, and sometimes he thought the after affects were as bad as the attack itself, but hey at least he could breathe again.

He spent another half an hour drawing, before he gave up and tossed the pad and charcoal onto the seat opposite him. The shaking was just too much and he kept making mistakes and thinking about things he didn't want to think about. The subject of his drawing, started unthinkingly with a numb mind, wasn't helping any. With a sigh, he glanced at his phone and saw that it was nearing dinner. He wasn't hungry, he never was after an attack, but knew that he needed to eat or the shaking would get worse.

During dinner, Stiles made friends with a wonderful older lady who just happened to notice his charcoal smudged hands and lured him into a conversation about an artist or two that she had dated 'back in the day.' He somehow managed to charm the socks off of her by talking about his favorite artists and techniques. She had still been giggling like a school girl as she left to her own sleeper cabin. After that, when he had finished eating – or rather picking at his food after eating all his stomach could handle which at that point wasn't much, a group of older gentlemen invited him to their game of poker, realizing that Stiles was traveling alone.

The distraction did wonders on him and he left the diner car around ten with steady hands and pockets full of peanuts and pretzels. He had been so busy trying to keep up with squirrely, cheating old men that he forgot about his attack for the most part. His chest was still sore, but that would take longer to go away. When he got back to his cabin, he called in to check on his dad and managed to kill another hour of the long trip just mindlessly chatting at his father.

After that he passed out, falling asleep in the chair, not bothering to pull down the bunk. He regretted it a short time later when he lost the tenuous control he had on his wings and they tried popping out of the back of his shirt. The pain had caused him to jerk awake in surprise. And he had then spent some time grumbling as he stripped and got the bunk ready.

The rest of the trip was spent alternating between fitful sleeping and playing around on his computer, doing half assed research when he could bring himself to do so. Not entirely an easy feat when he felt like he could currently care less about shit. He gave a brief wonder as to whether he was dipping his toe into depression or not, but decided after a bit of thinking that he was just passive aggressively showing his hurt at the pack by not doing what they wanted or needed. Just a little bit of rebellion before he got his head on straight and went back to trying to keep his friends safe.

Stiles ventured out of his cabin around six to eat breakfast, his appetite mostly restored. His chest was still aching, the longest the after effect had lasted. He was a bit concerned but it wasn't a crushing ache, it was still the same tenseness from the night before. He would have to take a wait and see approach before jumping to conclusions.

All in all, when the train finally reached Tacoma around one p.m., Stiles was dying of hunger and getting pretty crabby. It totally sucked that he still had an hour to go before he got to his aunts. If he was lucky, she would be a sweetheart and swing in for some fast food or something before they got on the road. Otherwise, he was likely to bite her head off at some point in the near future.

"Stiles!"

Stiles head jerked around and he saw his aunt at the edge of the platform, looking like a hippy flower child with her flowing skirt, sandals, and peasant shirt. All she needed to complete the look was a crown of flowers woven into her chocolate brown hair. He also saw a pair of bright green eyes, framed by messy brown locks of hair and a very familiar fedora, blink at him from behind her skirt before they disappeared again.

He grinned, "Aunt Mer!" Stiles dropped his bags in order to catch his aunt up in a hug, "It's great to see you," He pulled back and peered over her shoulder, "Hey Q!"

A gap toothed grin met him as Quinton, Meranda's son, looked at him from where he was buried in the folds of Meranda's skirts, "'Stiles!"

Stiles raised an eyebrow, even as he melted at the adorableness that was his five year old cousin who was now lisping his S's, "You've been able to say my name right for at least a year," He glanced at Meranda, who was just shaking her head, "What happened?"

"Lost teeth," Quinton said as he pulled his upper lip upwards towards his nose, the same upturned nose that Stiles himself had, "See?"

Stiles whistled lowly, "Wow! That's pretty impressive!"

"Yes, he lost them while carrying around an overloaded toy bucket between his teeth and tripping up a curb. Incredibly impressive," Meranda interrupted in a sarcastic tone as Quinton opened his mouth again, "Okay, I'm sure Stiles is pretty hungry, so why don't we get going hmm?"

Quinton stuck a finger into his mouth as he nodded and Meranda picked him up to let him settle on her hip. It wasn't to be, however, as the moment he was in the air, Quinton was struggling to get to Stiles. The five-year-old had always been on the smaller side but the boy was a wiggle worm and had more than once twisted his way out of a hold, up in the air or no.

"Here, I'll take him," Stiles said, picking up his bags and slinging them over his shoulder before accepting his cousin, who snuggled into his neck with a happy sigh, "And yes, food. That would be awesome. Curly fries if you can."

Meranda rolled her eyes and led the way out of the station, "I'll swing through Arby's. Your grandfather is still out of town. He's up in the Cascades with a feral colony, helping with a rough birth."

"Helping?"

Meranda gave him a weird little grin over her shoulder, "You do know that your grandfather is a healer right? It's considered a Vista family trait, given that all of the men in the family were magically inclined to be healers. Given those adorable blue hair tints, which match your grandfathers when he's been awake for forty eight hours straight, I bet your magic runs that way as well," She frowned then, eyes straight forward, "It's a shame really."

"Why?" Stiles asked, hiking up Quinton a bit as he happily snuffled off into sleep, his body becoming lax, "Isn't being able to heal others a good thing?"

"Of course it is. No, I was just…I was hoping you'd take after your mom with all of this. It would figure that she'd be the unique one out of us."

They had reached Meranda's truck at that time, and she slid her son out of Stiles' arms to put him into his booster in the back seat. Stiles threw his bags onto the floor underneath his cousin before gently shutting the door. He climbed into the passenger seat and was buckling up as he asked, "What do you mean? How was she unique?"

Meranda started the truck and pulled out of the lot, aiming it towards the Arby's sign up the road, "Your mom, and this was probably because of the alliance with the Hales, was a fighter. It was…My God; it was incredible to watch her in action. She moved like the wind and could be just as fierce. She favored a bow when she fought, a brownie bow that she was so proud of, and she always claimed that the arrows were good for short distance and long distance fighting and you could never go wrong with that."

Stiles had to bite back a snort. Wouldn't it figure? His mom had been another Allison Argent. Because Allison had said something almost exactly similar to him and Scott a bit before Christmas when they had been trying to coax out of her what she wanted as a gift and she kept repeating arrows. Then he blinked. What the hell was a brownie bow? It sounded like a bow that should be worn by a brownie scout, not a fighting tool.

Meranda must have noticed his bafflement because she was quick to explain, "A brownie bow is a bow carved out of the old trees, when fairies were still using them to live in. The bows were carved centuries ago and always chose their next wielder. The new owner then entwines their magic into the bow to mix with the magic inherent in the bow itself. It ensures a sort of communication which means that intent, not aim, helps the arrows fly true. Your mom was about twelve when that bow appeared and all of us were shocked. There weren't many in the family that ever had combative powers. Unless pissed off, fairies are pretty passive.

"I still have her bow," Meranda continued, "It appeared in my living room the morning she died. It's how I knew she was gone before your dad even called. It's just sitting there in all its glory, waiting for its next user. I can't even touch it."

Stiles blinked again, "Why?"

Meranda shrugged, "Stiles, I am just as much of a klutz as you. I'm liable to break the thing just by laying a finger on it and it knows it."

"Hmm, well, if gramps is a healer and mom was a fighter, what is your magic tuned to? What about gramma's? Or Uncle Dom's?" He glanced over his shoulder, "Q? Because I've know that kid since he was born and I have to say, I've never seen wings sprouting from his back."

"I take after your grandmother. We are, were, both inclined to be out in nature, taking care of flowers and other wildlife. I'm the one that collects the herbs your grandfather needs for his salves and potions now that mom is gone," She pulled up to the drive-thru and looked at Stiles, "What do you want to eat? It's on me," She added quickly when he shifted to pull his wallet out of his pocket.

Stiles gave her his order, an extra-large curly fry a must, and contemplated what he had learned so far about his family. It was shocking, really, that there was so much that he didn't know. He had always thought them to be so close and yet here he was learning that there was a whole other life his mom had had, that his aunt and grandfather had. He didn't know whether to be in awe that he was actually magical or to cling on to the creeping sense of betrayal; he could have used this information and _help_ when he went out dealing with rogue werewolves and hunters, not to mention whatever else that tended to show up in Beacon Hills these days. Stiles shook away those thoughts that came from the dark and insecure crevices in his mind and willed himself to divert his attention back to his aunt.

"Your Uncle Dom," Meranda started again, somewhat wistfully, as she pulled out onto the highway once they had their food, "Was drawn to the healing arts as well. I told you it was a Vista family trait after all. He just…he was more like your mom, going his own way. He was fascinated with humans, with the lives they were able to lead without magic. He also had a bit of a fighter streak in him. So, he decided to carve his own path when it came to his healing, rather than following your grandfather's steps and sticking with fairies exclusively."

Stiles nodded, "The army."

"Yes. I met your uncle through him when they were home on leave and Quinn had nowhere to go. Those two saved so many lives in Afghanistan," Meranda gave a sad smile; "It's just a shame they lost theirs in the process. As for my little terror, we're not sure. Like you, he is only half fairy. Except…"

Meranda glanced at him, "His other half is not human. It's Kelpie. So…we are just as lost as we were with you. Anything could happen."

The rest of the ride passed in silence, occasionally broken by a snort from the backseat where Quinton was sleeping. Meranda was likely thinking of her lover, the man she had named her son after and that still held her heart even though his death was years ago. Stiles was trying to deter any negative thoughts that kept swimming through his mind with little to no success since he was still feeling the effects of not only the long train ride, but also the medication that he no longer needed.

He knew what withdrawals were like and he and his dad had decided that weaning him off slowly was the best course of action, just in case. But there was a still a heaviness in his chest that wasn't just from the depressing family story he had just learned nor was it from the shock of having his life axis ripped out from under him when he learned his true heritage. It was like there was a giant hand pressing down on his chest, so similar to his panic attacks that he was half afraid he was on the cusp of another one even though he knew that the pressure came during, not before.

* * *

That first week in Washington, Stiles was pushed to the edge by his aunt and eventually his grandfather. By Friday, he was able to store his wings into little pockets in his back thanks to his magic. It was uncomfortable as fuck, but it did the trick. Wearing shirts didn't feel like a chore anymore. He had also been constantly reassured that he would eventually get used to the feeling of storing his wings. One of the salves his grandfather taught him to make that eased pain helped as well. Despite all of that, he still couldn't fly. Which was killing him, because hello – _wings_. He could barely get an inch off the ground before he came crashing down. Quinton thought that was the most hilarious trick ever and Stiles manfully consoled himself that he was doing it to get a laugh out of the five-year-old.

On top of that, the pressure in his chest had turned into something that felt eerily like the depression he had felt after his mom died. Sure, he was excited to use magic, to learn the healing traits his grandfather knew and how to pick the right kinds of plants from his aunt, but none of the excitement could totally erase the feeling that something was missing. That something was _wrong_.

He wondered if it was because he was away from his dad for so long. This was the first time he had made the trek to Washington alone and was the longest he had ever been away. He talked to his dad every day on the phone, sometimes twice, listening with guilt as his father got more and more annoyed with Scott and the rest of the pack as they hounded him about where Stiles had disappeared to. Apparently knowing he was with family and that the Sheriff obviously knew wasn't enough to quell their worry. John had tried more than once to get Stiles to at least call Scott, but…he wasn't ready. Not yet. He had spent a few mornings half miserable about being led on, about not truly being pack.

The idea that the ache was centered on his father was further cemented when his dad showed up on Sunday, a day earlier than planned to spend Stiles birthday together (and holy shit, Stiles was seventeen! Wasn't that a kick in the head? Sixteen had seemed to go on forever), and the pressure on his chest lessened some.

He spent all of Monday morning showing his dad his new tricks, who 'oohed and awwed' in the appropriate places but with all the enthusiasm of a man who had seen that trick thirty times and was watching it with someone who hadn't seen it, much to Stiles consternation, before his grandfather dragged his dad off to go fishing. An activity that Stiles hated and his dad enjoyed, so it had always been a bonding activity between father and son-in-law.

Once the door was shut behind them, Stiles slid into his aunt's study, "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

Meranda looked up at him with a soft smile, "Today's a free day baby boy. I have a couple of articles I have to finish editing before tomorrow."

Stiles nodded, totally understanding. His aunt did have a job after all. But he had had this overwhelming sense of energy to be moving, to go somewhere, a sensation he hadn't felt all week that eerily mimicked his ADHD, "Okay then. I am going to go wake Q and take him down to the inlet for a while."

"Okay. Take a lunch and some water with you. Oh, and whatever you do, do not get sea salt on your wings; It's a hassle getting the salt out," Meranda said, most of her attention already back on her computer.

"Right," Stiles went off to the kitchen and packed himself and his cousin a rather large lunch, knowing what his appetite was like lately it was better to be safe than sorry, and a few bottles of water and Gatorade. Then he went about the task of waking up a five-year-old that loved to sleep. It was a joy, it really was. As much as he adored his little cousin, getting kicked in the face was not all that fun. It took nearly twenty minutes to get Quinton to the point of getting ready, let alone out the door.

His aunt and grandfather's house was barely a mile up from Hammersley Inlet, a part of the track of waterways that came off of the ocean and butted up to Tacoma and Seattle. Stiles had spent his last few vacations traipsing about in the water, enjoying that he could swim in a part of the ocean without worrying about the dangers the actual ocean presented. Knowing his luck, sharks or whales or something would find fairies to be irresistibly yummy.

The closer Stiles got to the inlet, the more he felt like he could breathe again. The pressure was letting up almost completely, something he was still sure had to do with his dad and now a new sense of freedom as they made the trek to the water. He spent most of that time carrying Quinton as he finished waking up and the rest laughing at the antics of a five-year-old who enjoyed the forest a little too much.

It took them twenty minutes to reach his favorite spot on the inlet and he quickly laid out the blanket he had grabbed, followed by the food, on an outcropping of rocks that jutted out over the water. He dropped down on the blanket with a sigh. Now this was more like it. It may not have been warm enough to swim, hell it wasn't warm enough to go without a sweater, but the sun was warm on his face and the heat of the rocks was slowly filtering through his blanket and hoodie. With the added bonus of not feeling like he was being compressed to death, it was almost enough to put him to sleep.

And it probably would have, until Quinton reminded him that he was so very much not alone as the five-year-old jumped on his stomach, "Stiles, 'm hungry!"

Stiles stomach let out a giant rumble in agreement with his cousin's words, causing the little boy to fall back onto the blanket, overcome with giggles. Stiles laughed, "Looks like I am too. Help me get the food out."

Together, they pulled out some sandwiches out of the basket, thick with veggies and very little meat, along with a big ziplock bag of kale chips his aunt and cousin had gotten him addicted to. Quinton dove into his food like he hadn't been fed for days. Stiles would have complained, told him to slow down, but he was just as hungry. He barely made a dent into his first sandwich, however, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise.

Stiles furrowed his brow in concern and gently manhandled Quinton onto his lap with one arm, the boy murmuring around his food in confusion before settling in. Stiles knew that feeling. He got it when his grandfather was being a creeper and trying to psych him out whenever he practiced with his aunt. The older man had thought it hilarious the first two times when Stiles yelled long and loudly about the heart attack he had experienced. He had learned, as was his grandfather's intentions, to follow that feeling. To know when something was out of place…or someone.

Stiles slowly lowered his sandwich to his plate so his arms were bracketing Quinton before glancing around. He didn't see anybody, not at first. A second sweep, and he caught a flash of black behind a tree. He cocked his head and used his magic to push his vision a little bit further (it would figure he could control his senses better than his fricking wings), to magnify where he was looking. It was then that he caught sight of a familiar pair of blue green eyes and he gasped, "_Derek?!"_

TBC…

A/N: :)


	5. Chapter 5

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

This chapter was looked over by She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Sane. Thank you so much!

Again, thank you all for the reviews/likes/kudos!

Also, please don't kill me...

Onwards and Enjoy!

* * *

Stiles jerked back in shock and blinked rapidly when his vision suddenly retracted. With a shake of his head, he peered back out, but couldn't seem to find those eyes again. He lengthened his hearing, but couldn't hear anything either, except for the odd forest creature scurrying about. A bullfrog croaked close by and Stiles winced, his hearing automatically returning to normal to protect itself.

Quinton leaned back and Stiles looked down to see green eyes thrown wide with worry, "You okay? Who is Derek?"

"Uh, Derek is…" Stiles blinked slowly, "Someone I know from home. And yeah, yeah, I'm okay. I was just shocked, that's all. Come on, maybe we should get back to the house."

"Aww, but…"

Stiles shook his head and lifted Quinton to his feet, "Uh uh, no buts dude. Help me pick up."

Quinton glared at Stiles before huffing a sigh and bending over to gather up the sandwiches. They made quick work of the food, tossing everything back into the basket. Quinton held the basket while Stiles folded up the blanket with quick but efficient flicks of his wrist. He stuffed it under the handles of the basket and promptly swung his cousin into his arms. He cast out his hearing once more and when he knew the path was safe, worked his way back to the house.

It wasn't until they crossed the proximity alarms that he let out a sigh of relief. He pressed a kiss to Quinton's forehead before setting him on his feet, "Go tell your mom we're back."

Quinton stared up at him a moment before he nodded and took off into the house. As soon as his cousin was behind closed doors, Stiles allowed himself to drop to his knees with a gasp. Holy crap on a cracker, he was hallucinating now?! And it had to be hallucination because there was no reasonable explanation for Derek to be up in Washington, no way for him to even know where Stiles was even if he were so inclined to go after the wayward fairy.

"Stiles?!"

Stiles looked up and saw his aunt rushing towards him, "Aunt Mer, we're okay. I swear, nothing happened. I just had a freak out that's all."

"I know, baby," Meranda said, crouching down and pulling him into a hug, "Quin does talk to me, you know. What makes you think you saw Derek?"

His aunt had all but forced the last eight months out of him his first night at her house. Well, Stiles claims force, but to be honest he all but word vomited everything out like he was prone to do, including his ever growing crush on Derek and the shrinking one on Lydia. His aunt had always been so easy to talk to. Plus, like his parents, she had known Derek since he was a newborn as well. She had claimed that she used to take him and his brothers and sisters in to babysit when Quinn was home on leave, to give him some practice for when they had kids.

Meranda hadn't been thrilled about Scott being turned into a werewolfor that Peter, crazy fucked up Peter, had been the one to do it. Though she did tell Stiles that if Scott had killed the Alpha instead of Derek, Scott would have become an Alpha not been cured – something that no sixteen year old should bare and certainly not a werewolf who didn't want to be a wolf in the first place. Scott was more confident in himself now, but back in October? That so would not have been a good thing.

"I…" Stiles shook his head, "I saw a flash of black and I pushed my eyesight and I swear to God, Aunt Mer, I met Derek's eyes, straight on. They are kind of distinctive, ya know? But…after I jerked back, I looked again and listened this time and there was no one there. No one in the woods anywhere that I could tell."

Meranda pulled back to look at Stiles before biting her lip, "Is it at all possible you actually did see him? He is a werewolf, Stiles, and he knows your heritage. There are ways to mask sound, especially if he is at all suspicious."

Stiles let out a scoff of a laugh, "Yeah, no, he totally wasn't there. If anyone was lucky enough to figure out where I was it would be Scott because he is the only one that cares enough to actually chase me down. And that's _if _he and or the others figured out where I was. Yeah, sure, Scott and Isaac are worried about me, I got that much from dad but that's it."

"Hey, hey," Meranda said, shaking Stiles shoulders lightly, "Enough with the self-defamation."

"That wasn't insecurities talking. It's kinda the truth. The pack members are nice to me generally, though granted Derek's is more of a '_I'm only putting up with you because you're useful_' kind of way, but none of them actually like me. I'm more of a helping hand than anything. That isn't exactly what pack bonds are built on, ya know? Besides, I read the lore. Fairies can only bond with wolves through magic…a fairies magic. Guess what I didn't have until now?"

"No," Meranda said with a soft smile, answering even though it had been a rhetorical question, "You were human until now. Think about that," She climbed to her feet and started back towards the house, "Come in and finish eating. Then you can take Quin into town to do the shopping while I finish those articles. We will go into spell work after dinner."

"Yay," Stiles said, sarcastically, though inside he was jumping up and down like Quinton was prone to do. They had yet to touch spells since he had been here, more concerned with his control. Though, dammit, he still wasn't able to fly.

Eating didn't take that long, Stiles was still hungry even after his little mental breakdown and he had come to love the veggie filled sandwiches that were commonplace in his aunt's house. His grandfather told him that fairies were very tied in to all things nature and most were straight up vegetarians because of it, including him and Meranda. However, Stiles had spent seventeen years of his life eating meat and he would happily continue to do so. But that didn't mean he wouldn't start eating more veggies. Plus those kale chips were amazingly addicting! If he could keep himself stocked up at home, he could probably drop potato chips from his diet completely.

Quinton, who had eaten while Stiles was conversing with Meranda outside, met him at the bottom of the stairs when Stiles was done with his own lunch, "Ma said we're goin' to the store?"

And just like he had spent the last week doing, Stiles melted at the lack of teeth induced lisp. Coming from a five year old dressed in a captain America t-shirt, cargo pants, little workmen boots, and that damned fedora he only took off while sleeping or in the tub, the kid was incredibly heart melting and the lisp just made it worse. It may make him out to be a ten year old girl with her first teeny bopper crush, but whatever, Stiles didn't care. He was secure in his masculinity. To make it even worse, Quinton just patted his thigh and stepped around him with a knowing smile no five year old should ever have on their face, "Gampa does the same thing. Some healer thing he said. Makes us kids iri…iris…" Stiles could hear the scowl in Quinton's voice, even as he tried to parse through what the hell the kid was saying, "More adorable."

Well…that was something. So it was the healer magic in him that had him turning into a puddle around his cousin and that it happened to his grandfather as well. Good to know. It also knocked a few future career prospects off of his list, because there was no way he could be an elementary school teacher if he thought everything a kid did was adorable. He would so get taken advantage of. Kids were vicious little sharks when they sensed willing bait. He'd seen his dad drop the hook under groups of kids all the time during the police department tours. If they honed in on that, Lord knows what they'd do to Stiles with his apparently _a hormonal girl_ fairy genes.

The store was actually an indoor market place at the edge of town, with individual vendor stalls selling a variety of goods. Stiles loved the place. It was upbeat, busy as hell, and they had the best stuff. Some of the stalls had homemade goods, such as foods and clothes; others were more like flea markets in style. There were also stalls of major store brands, set up by the chains themselves. All in all, it was a little slice of heaven, even for someone who didn't like to shop. Stiles wished they had something like it back in Beacon Hills. It would make shopping for his dad so much easier and all the farmed goods were so much fresher than a grocery store.

"You wanna grab a cart Q?" Stiles asked, pulling his aunts list out of his pocket.

Quinton nodded eagerly and ran over to the cart park, yanking out one of the larger carts that had a seat for him at the top. Stiles lifted him up and swung him into the seat, "Okay, so…your mom's list is mostly fruit and some of the veggies she doesn't grow at home. Oh," Stiles scanned the list, "And some breads as well. All right then. While we're here, I'm going to do some shopping to make my dad some dinners as well. Might as well ki-er, take care of two birds and all that jazz," Stiles quickly diverted his word flow, when he noticed Quinton staring up at him with wide eyes.

"So, Q," Stiles said, pushing the cart down towards the food section of the store, "How's school treating ya?" Despite the week at his aunts, Stiles really hadn't had any meaningful conversations with his little cousin. Sure, he read him bedtime stories, or rather allowed Quinton to read to him, but that had been the extent of their interaction outside of his training.

Quinton shrugged, turning in his seat this way and that to see everything that they passed, "S'okay. Mister G is cool," he dragged the word out, like most kids were prone to do, "We read lots and color tons. I can count to a hundred. That's a lot."

Stiles grinned, "That really is. Okay, here's the bread stand. Let's see, we need-"

"Stiles?" A surprised, dulcet tone rang through the air.

Stiles jerked and looked around. He knew that voice. But there was no way, no way at all that she was here. But damned if he was wrong. Allison Argent stood a stall down, brown eyes wide at the sight of him before they began flicking around like she was looking for someone. Probably Scott because, generally, where one went so did the other. Which boy did that kind of grate on his nerves a bit. He was capable of living a life without Scott, "Allison! Oh my God…" He trailed off slowly, wondering what was becoming of his life that he wasn't as surprised as the situation warranted.

She gave him one of her sweet smiles and walked over, pulling him into a hug that he accepted with a small smile, "Stiles! I can't believe you're here!" She pulled away and gave him a frown, "Why are you here?"

"Visiting family for break," He dropped his arms from around her waist and pressed a hand to the back of Quinton's neck, careful as all get out not to disturb his fedora. Quinton was vicious about the thing, "This is my baby cousin, Quinton."

Quinton scowled, "Not a baby."

Stiles winced, "No, no, you're a little man. I'm sorry. I should know better, really." He glanced at Allison who looked to be emotionally pulled between amused and _aww, isn't he adorable_, "Last time I called him a baby, he put super glue in my shoes. It…wasn't pleasant."

Which had happened a year ago. Seriously, Stiles had no idea how Quinton had pulled it off. Because Stiles had been ten when he first tried a prank with super glue as the main ingredient and ended up in the hospital with four of his fingers glued together from half a tube of the stuff. Quinton had been _four_.

Allison laughed, "Oh that's funny," She turned towards the cart and the little boy perched at the top, "Hi Quinton. I'm Allison, a friend of Stiles. I love your hat."

Quinton lost the scowl and flashed Allison a grin that was all dimples and missing teeth, "Thanks. You're pretty!"

"Why thank you! You're pretty handsome as well. If it's okay with your cousin, do you think I could buy you a milk shake?"

"Oh! Yes please!" Quinton turned his doe eyes on Stiles and really? How the hell could he say no to that?

* * *

"So?" Stiles asked, dipping his spoon into his glass to dig out the cherry from where it was slowly sinking into the ice cream, "I thought you guys…" He flipped a hand, "New York?"

Allison dragged her eyes away from Quinton as she nodded, "Yeah. And we are. But dad had a conference in Tacoma. A legit business one," She rushed on to add when Stiles eye's narrowed, "and since it was spring break, I got to tag along. I don't mind being by myself, but a whole week with no school, it was just a little much you know?"

Yeah, Stiles knew. Especially with Allison being a new girl in town. Even with four months under her belt at a new school, out of school hang outs are hard to do if you don't have people like Lydia and Jackson yanking you into their lives without thought, "Tacoma is an hour away," Stiles couldn't help but point out.

"Yeah. Today's the start of the conference. I got bored hanging out at the pool and one of the concierges mentioned this place and thought I'd like it. She was right of course."

Stiles smiled at that, "Of course."

"What's a con-see-air?" Quinton asked around a mouth full of his ice cream sundae that he had talked Allison into with a lisp and fluttering eyes. Apparently little minds were not so one tracked as Stiles remembered his being. It used to be that someone could put ice cream in front of him and he would disappear into the total experience of eating ice cream, life around him be damned.

"It's a person who works at hotels to make other people's vacations easier," Allison answered before Stiles got the chance.

Quinton squinted in thought before nodding and going back to his ice cream, "Okay."

Allison chuckled slightly. Then she looked back at Stiles and her smile drooped a bit, "I remember you talking about visiting an aunt over spring break. I thought…I thought Scott was going along."

Stiles shook his head and looked down at the table, "No, he uh, had practice all week. Required for first line if they wanted to keep their spots."

"Mm hmm," Allison hummed, the tone knowing.

Stiles sighed, "Okay, look. Some…stuff…happened a week ago. Part of it was me and part of it was them. I just…I'm not quite ready to talk to them…him yet."

"So, you ran away."

"What? No, of course not," Stiles looked up and locked eyes with her knowing ones. He sighed again, "Fine. I ran away. Sorta. I was planning on coming here anyway. It was pretty coincidental actually. But still…"

Allison reached out and touched his hand, "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I…" Stiles bit his lip. Could he? Granted Allison's dad was an okay guy now mostly, with his creepy father gone and all but, did he want to risk it? He loved Allison, she was a wonderful person, but things tended to slip.

He could, however, tell her some of it, "I…overheard something. Scott and Isaac goofing around and then Jackson coming up to them before I could go over. And Jackson…started spouting off. Turns out…I'm not…" He shook his head, was he really still that upset over this? "I'm not part of the pack. Not like I thought I was. They were humoring me," He whispered the last part, no doubt that Allison could hear it.

"Oh, oh Stiles," She whispered right back, her voice showing how upset she was on his behalf, "What did Scott say? Or Isaac?"

"Nothing," He croaked. And yeah, looks like he was still that upset about it.

A look of ire crossed her face, "Those boys," She growled, "Okay, look. You are not going to believe me, but I am putting it out there anyway. For the short time that everything started running smooth before I left, I was considered a part of Scott's pack and because of that, part of Derek's depending on how you think about it. Pretty impressive given that the truce between dad and Derek was pretty shaky and I'm pretty sure Derek didn't and still doesn't trust me. I was there because of Scott. And because of that Derek accepted me. Which means if he accepted _me_, then he accepted you. Because you are a much more integral part of Scott's life than I ever was. Sixteen years cannot overcome six months. It doesn't work like that.

"Jackson has a bug up his ass, had one pretty literally actually, and as for Scott and Isaac, well…maybe they just don't understand that humans can and usually are a part of pack life. They weren't born to that kind of life and still have a lot to learn."

Stiles mulled that over. That…was a possibility. And one that made him look incredibly fucking stupid actually. Running away over Jackson opening his mouth would make him look like a little baby, "So, what your saying is that I blew this way out of proportion?"

Allison shook her head, "What I'm saying is talk to Derek. Explain to him what happened and go from there. Even if you did take things out of context, Jackson had no right to say any of that," She took a sip of her milkshake and then quirked an eyebrow as a snore came from next to Stiles elbow, "He fell asleep?"

Stiles chuckled softly, "Yeah, he tends to do that. Q loves to sleep."

Allison glanced around the bustling café that was edged up to the opening of the store before shaking her head, "Must be nice, to be able to fall asleep in the middle of such chaos. To not worry about anything."

"Tell me about it," Stiles sighed softly. Even though his ADHD had been a byproduct of his magic being locked away for the first seventeen years of his life, he had found that his thoughts still tended to buss around like bees. To fall asleep whenever one wanted to sounded like an amazing, far-fetched dream, "Real nice."

TBC….


	6. Chapter 6

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/N: Couple of things. One, sorry for the wait. People tend to go on vacations and you really can't fault them for it…not me, but my wonderful beta She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Sane who is wonderful, let me tell you. Two, don't kill me. Please. Also….a bit of good news, I am back to being ahead of the game. I am currently working on chapter ten so….this story is growing to epic proportions (well, epic for _me_ anyway). It is currently my third longest story in the ten plus years I've been writing fanfics. This fandom is eating my brain. That's all I can say.

Onwards and enjoy!

* * *

Stiles sighed and knocked back the rest of his nearly melted ice cream. Talk to Derek. Everyone was all talk to Derek. He would, honestly he would at this point just to get everyone to shut up about it, but he had left his phone back home and unless he wanted to call Scott, everyone was just going to have to wait until his dad got back to Beacon Hills.

"Thank you, Allison for the ice…cream…" Stiles trailed off and his brow furrowed when he felt something weird happening in his chest. It felt like, well, he wasn't sure what it felt like. It was an odd tugging sensation, kind of like a rope was thrown around him and someone was tugging him away and oh, there's the analogy. Stiles rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he peered around Allison in the direction the tugging seemed to be pulling him.

"Stiles?" Allison asked, glancing over her shoulder, the lines of her body tight with tension and worry.

"Do you mind watching Q? Just for a minute? There's something I want to go check out but I don't want to move him just yet," Stiles said, turning his attention back to the girl across from him.

Allison nodded, "Of course. I just…is everything okay?" She asked the last part in a slightly harsh whisper, alluding to their shared common interest, if one could call it that.

"Yeah," Stiles stood up and stepped towards the store, "Yeah, everything's fine. I'll be right back."

Stiles glanced back over his shoulder just in time to catch Allison sliding into his vacated seat and casually wrapping an arm around Quinton. Smart, but…not entirely necessary if he was reading his magic, well, he was guessing it was his magic, right. Stiles faced forward and stepped into the store, making his way down the aisle closest to him.

The tugging was leading him to one of the far back corners where, when he reached the end of the aisle, he noticed a new vendor setting up shop. It was a bit odd, really, since it was two in the afternoon, but it was where he was guided too.

Stiles walked up to the booth and glanced down at the wares already out before frowning. Whatever his magic wanted must still have been packed away, and seriously, why was it all feelings with this stuff? It would have been so much easier to get a clear picture so he could ask after the item rather than just stand around and twiddle his thumbs like a doofus while waiting for the item to be placed out.

The older gentleman that was slowly unpacking his boxes behind the counter eyed Stiles shrewdly before his face cleared and his eyes widened, "Ah, so you are why I am here."

Stiles frowned, "I'm sorry?"

The man smiled, "I own this booth, but I rarely come in. I just find it prudent to have. Today is a good example of why. Step back here behind the curtain please."

"I'd rather not," Stiles said, taking a step backwards instead, "My father is a sheriff. I've been aware of 'Stranger Danger' since I was in diapers."

"Oh, I like you. Yes, I think they will be in good hands," The man said with a laugh, "I know of your heritage. Mine is similar if not the same. We can sense others you know, once you know what you're looking for. Now, I would really prefer not to do this out in the open. I think it would draw far too much attention."

Stiles bit his lip and glanced around. He blinked when he saw just how packed the back corner was, "Okay, but if you do anything funny, I will beat you up, old man or not."

The man's eyes twinkled, fucking twinkled like he was impersonating Dumbledore or something, and he bowed his head, "Fair enough," He held back the edge of a curtain that separated the booth into two rooms and waved a hand, "Shall we?"

Stiles took a deep breath before he ducked under the counter. He glanced at the man before stepping around the curtain. Once he passed into the back room, he gasped as he felt the air tingling around him, "What the hell?!"

"Relax! I just set up some simple noise wards. People can hear us talking but can't make out the words. A clever idea really. One of my favorites," The man smiled at Stiles again before clapping his hands together, "Now, the reason you are here."

He turned and began digging through a box, "Ah, here we go," He pulled out a long wooden case that shone like onyx, "This is why we both are here, yes?"

"Yes," Stiles breathed out, knowing instinctively that whatever was in that box is what his magic craved. He reached out slowly and carefully took hold of the box as it was handed to him.

Stiles lifted the lid and promptly gasped. Inside were the most wicked –in all definitions of the word- looking daggers that Stiles had ever seen. Which, okay granted, Stiles had never seen daggers outside of comics or movies but even still, they were impressive.

The handles of the two daggers, which were wrapped in worn leather and had finger grooves for easier gripping, were identical as were the runes that were etched into the blades, but those were the only similarities that showed them to be a set. One of the daggers was hooked like a scythe, with the runes running along the middle of the blade. The blade itself was about the width of Stiles palm at its widest and was probably the length of his forearm if he counted his hand.

The other one, Stiles had never seen anything like it. It was shaped like a crescent moon with the handle at the middle and two blades arcing out on each side. The blades weren't quite as wide as the first dagger, but they were far longer and tapered down to some pretty wicked points.

While he was staring at them, Stiles felt the tugging that had dragged him back here make one final jerk before it settled down. However, another peculiar feeling replaced the tugging and it took him a moment to realize that he was sensing the magic in the daggers, that the magic was twining with his.

"These, boy, are *moon blades. Named for not only their shape but when they were made as well as their, well let's just saw, extra abilities. This particular set has been sitting in my families shop for many years, waiting for their next owner. The runes etched in the blades are the elements that make up the very foundation of a fae's magic."

Stiles stared at the daggers with wide eyes, "These are amazing. There's no other word for it. But," Stiles turned his gaze up to the man, "I can't afford them. These things have to cost a fortune!"

The man stared at Stiles for a long moment before he broke down in laughter, "Were you raised by humans boy? Fae weapons don't work that way! This is not a transaction. Those daggers are yours. I can hardly charge you for something that already belongs to you. I was just the keeper of them until you came along to claim them back. Now get out of here. I might as well make some actual money while I'm here."

Stiles did as bid and made his way back to the café in a haze. The blades chose him? Well, that supported what his aunt told him about his mom and her bow. It was a little depressing that he didn't get his mother's bow, that it didn't want him, but these daggers? Holy shit, he'd certainly take them over the bow, never mind that to use them he'd have to get a little up close and personal with whatever enemy he hoped to God he never had to face to use them.

His eyes met Allison's when he was still twenty feet from the table where she was trying to keep not only an eye out but a now awake five year old entertained. She raised an eyebrow at him before her gaze flickered down to the box he had grasped tightly under his arm. Surprise flit across her face and as soon as he was in hearing range she opened her mouth, "You left me up in arms with a five year old hyped on sugar so you could go shopping?"

Stiles winced. Oh boy was he in trouble.

* * *

Meranda stared down at the daggers in bemusement. Like the bow, she wasn't able to touch them, the magic surrounding the blades prevented anyone but Stiles even laying a finger on them, "Explain it to me again?"

Stiles sighed, "I was at the café, spending some time with a friend that I ran into when I felt a weird tugging on my magic. So I left Q with Allison and followed the pulling. I met an old man at a stall and he knew just by looking at me that these daggers were why I was there. They were why he was there too apparently. As soon as he pulled the box out I knew they were mine. That I was theirs -their next wielder. I swear, I could actually feel my magic binding to them."

Meranda hummed, "Well, it happens. It's just weird. With your coloring and how well you've taken to the potions and the potency you make them at, we figured that your magic was healing. You've made that back poultice better than dad. I think he was jealous to be honest," She trailed off with a small smile before shaking her head, "But this…"

She turned and gave him a considering look, "I wonder what else you can do."

Stiles had been thinking about this since he had said goodbye to Allison a few hours earlier. He didn't know what his limitations were, where everything would stop, but he had a theory, "Aunt Mer, remember how you said you didn't know what to expect from me because I was half human?"

"Of course," She said with a nod, "Why?"

"Well," Stiles started, "Could it be possible that I won't have a set trait because I _am _half human? I mean, humans are inherently fickle beings. Sure, some are good at one thing or another or really bad at something but for the most part, nearly everyone can do anything if they put their mind to it. Maybe that aspect of human nature has something to do with how my magic developed, especially since I did spend the first seventeen years living as a human…and a human with magically related ADHD at that."

Meranda stared at him with wide eyes before jumping to her feet. "I'll be right back," She said before all but flying out of the room.

Stiles frowned and stared after her, "Okay, not exactly the reaction I was expecting to that. At all."

Meranda was back a second later holding some books, "Hmm, did you say something?"

Stiles shook his head, "Not important. What are those?"

Meranda sat down next to him on the couch and laid the books in front of him, "I wasn't lying when I said that I didn't know what being half human would do to your fae side but the thing is? Your theory has been written about. The books just don't mention that human or other creatures were a part of it. There are actually accounts of some fairies that had abilities beyond the norm. Ones that had no trait set, despite family history.

"Two of these books are essentially their biographies. The third….well, one of the fairies is part of our family lore. This third book has been passed down generations. It's a book of spells. It's not widely used in our family, since healing and plants are our general traits and nearly three quarters of the spells are not aimed at those. We use the spells we need and can cast and generally ignore the rest…" She stared at Stiles, "I think you will be able to use every spell in this book, just like the fairy that wrote it. The one that I am now starting to suspect was a human hybrid as well."

Stiles made an interested noise at the back of his throat and flipped open the book. A quick glance at the first spell he ran across had him raising an eyebrow and he quickly scanned some more before turning to his aunt, "These are all ridiculously convoluted spells. I can't see them being useful in spur of the moment situations."

Meranda nodded, "Because they're not. Fairies magic, our magic, is mostly will based. Your wings are good example of that, remember the will you needed to make them still? Another is making that poultice. You needed to will your magic into it to help the ingredients meld together into a salve that would work, yes? Here, I will show you something," She stood up and went to a potted plant in the corner before motioning Stiles to join her, "Now, all fairies can use their magic in certain ways. Finding things is especially common, blocking out conversations or keeping others from listening in another. For me, and any other fae inclined to nurturing nature and growing things, this particular action is especially useful."

Meranda cupped her hands over the potted soil and closed her eyes. Stiles watched in amazement as her hands made a popping noise and a perfectly round and two inch deep hole appeared in the dirt, "Wow," He whispered.

"This has saved me a ton of time in the garden. With enough concentration, I can generally make about ten to fifteen holes at a time. Then I just drop the seeds in and will the dirt back over. Important, really, given the size of my gardens. If I wasn't able to do this, I would never be able to leave them. I can also weed the plants with my magic and even harvest some of them. Others cannot be harvested with magic so those I do by hand."

She waved her hand over the dirt and the hole closed up, "You try."

Stiles stared at her a moment before giving a short nod. He could do this. He had his new ability of concentration lately, even with his whirling thoughts. Stiles copied his aunt and cupped his hands over the dirt before closing his eyes and thought about what he wanted to do. Once he had that idea cemented, he called on his magic and willed it to do what he wanted. However, even though his magic responded, the noise his hands made was closer to a sonic boom than a pop. He was suddenly very afraid to open his eyes.

"Stiles," His aunt said, sounding vaguely amused.

Stiles cracked an eye open and looked at her before promptly falling over in laughter. Meranda was covered in potting soil and little pieces of plant from head to toe. What got him was the look on her face. She just looked so utterly bewildered that another glance at her sent him off into another wave of laughter, "What…" He took a deep breath, before letting out another chortle, "Oh my God, what happened?"

She rolled her eyes and ran her hands along her body, the dirt and plant bits falling away to the floor as she did, "I think you willed too much, baby boy. That is where control comes in. You want to think about planting a seed or a seedling, not a half grown tree."

Stiles giggled a few more times before he managed to rein in his amusement, "I just thought about digging a hole like yours."

"Mmm, good in theory not so much in practice. Specificity is the name of the game here. You need to be as specific as you can. Imagine trying to start a fire while camping. You have the pit ready, hold your hands out to start the fire, but if you don't make your idea as specific as possible, your will _will_ start the forest on fire."

Stiles hadn't considered that a possibility, "Oh dear."

Meranda nodded, "Exactly," She motioned at the next pot, "Try again."

* * *

The rest of that week was crazy busy for Stiles. In between working on his magical control with his aunt, he also spent time running errands for her and his grandfather, watching Quinton, making his dad meals for the following week, and reading the books his aunt had given him. When he wasn't doing all of that he was sleeping, because using his magic so much was incredibly exhausting. Seriously, he swore he hadn't slept so much since he was Quinton's age.

On the plus side, he had a sure fire way to cure his insomnia. Although, really, Stiles wasn't altogether too sure he _could_ count that as a plus. Sure, it was great being able to sleep, but Stiles had always used those intermittent hours that he was awake on homework and research.

The spell book that his aunt had given him had been pretty interesting, although with his life, highly impractical. The spells required not only concentration and will, but also ingredients, special circumstances like the new moon or winter solstice, and special equipment like a ceremonial dagger that had been blessed. There had been, however, one spell that had caught Stiles attention. It was a protective spell, one to add proximity alarms to properties. He knew his aunt and grandpa had one around their house, could feel the magic in it every time he crossed the border, but theirs didn't seem to be all that strong - more of a way to know if someone was coming, rather than to add any real protection.

It was a spell that would certainly come in handy back home and he decided Thursday morning that he would try it the following day, after his dad left. There was nothing in the spell that said a person had to be living on the premises in order for it to work. In fact, it would be great if that wasn't the case. He could think of so many places back home to use it on.

The last night his dad spent in Washington, Stiles was a bundle of nerves. The last week had been fantastic, despite being busy. He hadn't felt that dull ache in his chest once and he was so worried that once his dad was gone, the ache was going to return. On the flip side of that worry was anxiousness, because his dad had promised to get him Derek's number as soon as he walked in the door. Stiles only had a week left at his aunt's. He knew he couldn't put off talking to the werewolf any longer. He was just so very afraid of what he was going to find out.

So he passed the time trying to ignore the nerves, instigating a family game night, one that Quinton dominated until his bed time came around. It unnerved Stiles, sometimes, what his little cousin was capable of because no kid should ever be so ruthless at Hungry, Hungry, Hippos. After that, he and his family played a few rousing games of Smart Ass, a game that in all reality he and his grandfather shouldn't have played because of not only their unique ability to remember obscure facts about things but also that they both tended to get rather…competitive when it came to board games. It generally came down to them yelling out the answers at the end and taunting each other in between.

For the first time in two weeks, sleep did not come easily to Stiles. He spent the first couple of hours tossing and turning before he finally passed out – only to startle awake five hours later when he heard the shower turn on in the connecting bathroom that he shared with his dad. Right. His dad had a seven hour drive ahead of him. Stiles groaned at the thought that he still had something like twelve hours to wait before he could call Derek before climbing out of bed and traipsing downstairs.

His grandfather was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Stiles bent over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, "Morning *Dziadek."

The older man gave him a soft smile, "Good morning, Mieczyslaw. Did you sleep well?"

Stiles shook his head and went to the cabinet to pull out the makings for pancakes. Might as well give his dad a full stomach now on something homemade, rather than clogging his arteries with more fast food than he actually needed. Which reminded Stiles; he should probably make his dad some sandwiches to eat as well for the ride back, "No."

"Well, it is only for one more week. We will try to keep you busy enough to keep the worry down, hm?"

Stiles laughed though the though inspired a latent fear in him. If they weren't actively keeping him busy before, what did that mean for the coming week? "Thanks Dziadek."

True to his word, once Stiles dad pulled out of the drive, he was put to work in the gardens. His aunt had him using every ounce of will he possessed to pull weeds and get the beds ready for spring planting – by his magic only. And as if that wasn't enough, his aunt would come out occasionally and inspect his hands to make sure they were clean of dirt. It was sort of embarrassing and totally the opposite of what most parents checked their kids for when making them work in a garden.

Except for lunch, his aunt didn't let up on him until his dad called ten hours later. Which was probably a good thing, because Stiles had been heading into panic attack mode at hour eight when no call had come in and had a minor one at hour nine. At nine and half hours, he had curled himself into a corner in the living room with the cordless phone, trying to keep himself from calling his dad. And only because he knew if he did and distracted the man while he drove, he would get an earful. His father was of the firm belief that if there were going to be cell phone laws then not only would he enforce them, but he would follow them as well.

"_Sorry son,_" John said, when the call finally came, "_There was an accident outside of Redding. I'm lucky I'm only three hours late. The rubbernecking was a bitch._"

Stiles winced, "No one was hurt were they?"

"_No ambulances or fire trucks present when I went through, but that doesn't always mean anything. You know that."_

"Yeah, I know."

"_Besides, I think it was a tire that blew and forced the car into the cement divider, going by the road debris. Most of the time lag was from the stupid rubberneckers I think." _

Yeah, if there was one thing his father hated, it was rubberneckers - the people who were dead curious on what was going on and slowed down to see. They tended to cause accidents on top of the accident that already occurred, "Awesome. Glad no one was hurt though. So, dad, my phone?"

"_Yeah, yeah, I have it in my hand. Okay, kid, you really need to password lock this thing. Especially now that I know what kind of stuff you've been getting into. If a hunter got a hold of this…_"

"I tried that! I could never remember the password or passcode to get in and using something significant would be obvious to anyone. Besides, I have a code with the pack if I call without texting first so if someone accidently happened to get a hold of my phone, no one would answer."

"_That's a pretty good idea, son. I'm glad someone thought of it. Okay, Derek's number is…" _

His dad rattled off the numbers and Stiles wrote them down, before biting his lip, "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"_Call him, Stiles. I have thirty messages on the answering machine and…huh." _

"Huh? Huh what? Dad?"

"_Nothing. Nothing at all. Just…call him okay? If anything, just to let him know you're okay."_

Stiles made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, "He knows I'm okay. They all know I'm okay. You told them like, a million times."

"_And I'm sure that he and they would prefer to hear it from you. I have Derek's number now, so when I call him in a few hours, he better be able to give me an honest yes when I ask him if he heard from you._"

"What do you mean when?" Stiles asked, slightly aghast, "Dad, I did not give you permission to break into my phone so you could steal Derek's number for yourself. Seriously, dad?!" He growled when the phone clicked in his ear and all he heard was a dial tone, "AUNT MER?! Where's your cell phone?!"

His dad sucked sometimes. That's all there was to it. So did his aunt, for that matter, because she just laughed at him and shooed him out of her office when he stormed in for her cell phone. With a sigh, he grabbed the scrap of paper with Derek's number and clomped outside. He was going to do this, then he was going to work on the proximity spell, and then he was going to crawl into bed and ignore the world for the rest of the night because the rest of the world had all gone nuts!

Stiles had found a little grove of trees at the southern end of the five acre lot when he first arrived, where he could hear the water moving in the inlet if he concentrated hard enough. He had found it pretty soothing and it had become his favorite relaxing spot away from everyone else. It was there that he found himself as he punched Derek's number into the cordless phone.

He held the receiver up to his ear and turned his gaze towards the house. About a second into the ringing, he hung up and then called again. He then did so a third time before letting the phone continue ringing. Except…he could hear…the caller tone he had programmed for himself on Derek's phone. Because damned if the theme song for Freakazoid didn't stand out. Plus, it had gotten a smile out of Derek, so Stiles had counted that as a win.

But…but…He hung up the phone and dialed again. Sure enough, Freakazoid blasted out from the woods. Stiles hung up and turned around, "Derek?"

There was a moment where Stiles thought he was imagining all of this, because he was still pretty sure he had hallucinated the week before, but then Derek was stepping out of a tight copse of trees, "Stiles."

Stiles gaped. What the ever loving hell?

TBC…

*moon blades - see my deviantart page: ArtemisEmerald21 for a mock up of the blades. The drawing of them is in my scraps.

*Dzaidek = polish for grandfather

a/n 2: I am not going to be going into other languages beyond Stiles name/Grandfather because…ugh, that's such a hassle and then you have to rely on translators and let's face it, not always accurate. Plus, I want good reviews/comments, not people correcting me on something that I don't even technically know.

Also again….sorry.


	7. Chapter 7

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for the comments and the reads and just everything. I write for myself, but I love posting out there for others to read and to know you all like it is awesome. Thanks as well to my beta She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Sane whose insight and help is so appreciated, you have no idea.

Also, since you got the last one late, have this one early.

Onwards and enjoy!

* * *

"I didn't think it was possible for you to be quiet for more than ten seconds."

Which, that was totally a goad into getting him to say something because he was probably freaking Derek out by not talking but Stiles had far too many questions and not enough answers flying around in his head and all of them were trying to get out at once and it was causing something of a road block in his brain to mouth non-filtered tunnel. The first of which was, "Why is my aunt's number programed into your phone under me? Wait, why do you even have it?" Oh, hey, look, a question made it through the traffic jam. Two questions even. He had hopes for this jam, he really did.

Derek shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets, "It has been since you left. I got the number from the sheriff."

"Um," Stiles squinted, manfully ignoring the part about his dad for now. He would get back to that later when the rest of the block cleared out, "Okay? Another question and perhaps I should have led with this one. Why are you here?"

"You left."

Stiles nodded slowly, "Yes, yes I did. But that? Was not an answer to the question I just asked. So, again, _why are you here?_"

"Yes, Stiles, that is the answer to the question," Derek said with a sigh that only Stiles seemed to force out of him, "You left without a word to anyone right after I felt the link that bonded you to the pack break. So when I had the chance to find you, I took it because I needed to know what the hell was going on."

Stiles suddenly recalled his aunt's words after he thought he had hallucinated Derek that first time, '_You were human until now. Think about that._' And to be honest, Stiles hadn't. Thought about it, that is. Because he couldn't understand the connection between what his aunt was trying to say and what happened. Not at the time when he was still caught up in the grief over Jackson and his whole world purview being turned on its head. Now though, thinking about those words with a mostly clear though incredibly confused head, he knew exactly what she meant, "Holy shit, you mean I really was a part of the pack?"

Derek blinked before his eyebrows drew in in confusion, "You were. Did you not know? I understand that humans can't generally feel what we can but-"

"Uhm," Stiles interrupted, scrubbing his hands along his jeans. This was it. This was the conversation that Allison and his dad and everyone else wanted him to have with Derek and now that it was here, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to have it. Because Derek was going to wolf out on him and Stiles may have some protection against wolves now thanks to the mountain ash his aunt made him keep on him, but Jackson, Scott, and Isaac were going to have a few limbs torn from their bodies and Stiles didn't want that even if Jackson was a cockwomble and Scott and Isaac didn't always think, "Well…I had thought, uh hoped, I was."

"But you didn't believe it."

"I…did," Stiles said slowly.

Derek growled, "Then why did you leave without saying anything?"

Stiles almost growled back in frustration before he remembered that he was a freaking fairy, not a werewolf, "You want to know why?" Stiles shrugged off his flannel and pulled his t-shirt over his head just in time for his wings to pop out of his back, "This is why! And along with these pretty, pretty wings I also have senses that when they first showed up I couldn't control!

"It was like Scott back in September all over again. I went from seventeen years of thinking I was human, not knowing there was anything else to _be _and then werewolves showed up in my life and somehow out of this ragtag group of people assembled around me I was one of the only humans. I was proud of that and that I was able to help in a way that didn't require growing extra body parts!

"Then this happened and I went to school and Jackson ran his fucking mouth and I thought about all the times I annoyed you, that Erica sneered and growled at me, that Boyd ignored me and yes, I ran the fuck away because I wasn't ready to deal with that shit. I'm still not. The fact that Scott and Isaac agreed with Jackson was just icing on the fucking cake. Because apparently, no matter what _you_ think, no one else seems to want me around," Stiles slumped his shoulders once the last word was out, like that rant was all that had been holding him straight and tall, just waiting to get out.

"Stiles-"

"Look, I didn't break the bond on purpose, I didn't even know it was there to begin with," Stiles said tiredly, looking up at Derek who was staring back through wide eyes, "If you recall, I talked to Scott the night it happened, told him I had the flu. I didn't leave until the next day."

Derek all but rolled his eyes, "I figured that part out."

Stiles wanted to throw his arms up in the air and just cry in frustration. Sometimes it was like talking in circles with Derek and this was one whopper of a circle, "If you figured all of that out, then why are you asking?"

"Because knowing when is not the same as knowing why. I also needed to know if you were okay. I had an idea, I remember your mom, but like you said Stiles - human for seventeen years. I didn't think I was right and your dad wasn't saying anything," Derek paused before his eyes narrowed, "What did Jackson say?"

"He-" Stiles bit his lip, "Does it really matter?"

"Yes, of course it matters."

Stiles sighed and looked over Derek's shoulder, not wanting to see the anger or sneering that was sure to come, "I heard Scott asking if anyone had seen me yet that morning and Jackson chimed in that no one cared where I was, that I was probably milking the flu thing. Then he went on to say that the pack meeting that Sunday had been the best one he had ever been to, that they had time to do something fun that night for a change because I wasn't around to run my mouth and make the meeting last longer," Stiles scratched at the back of his neck, "He followed that up by saying that he was going to talk to you about me not coming to the meetings anymore because I wasn't pack anyway."

"And that made you run away. Jackson being his normal ass made you run away." And there it was. Boy, did Derek have his skeptical voice down pat. It would be impressive if the conversation were any different.

"It was a culmination thing, okay? I was already in a weird place as it was and like I told you, Scott and Isaac agreed with him. Plus, other than Scott, none of them really like me. It wasn't too hard to make that kind of leap."

"Did Scott and Isaac actually say anything?"

"No and that's kind of the point. They may not have verbally agreed with him, but they didn't disagree either," Stiles replied. His body gave a shiver and goose bumps broke out over his skin. It was then that he remembered that he had whipped his shirts off in a fit of pique and was standing there talking to Derek half naked.

He shivered again and frowned. That…that wasn't a cold shiver. That was the shiver he got whenever someone without Vista blood crossed the border of the property. And given that Derek was still standing at the property line, then…

Stiles frowned. It was nothing to worry about, he was sure of it. His aunt had plenty of friends that liked to drop by and were pretty much the reason for the alarms anyway, to give his family a chance to hide anything of the supernatural variety before any humans made it to the front door. He ignored the voice at the back of his head telling him something was wrong, knowing that it was just paranoia at that fact that there had been very few visitors since he had arrived.

"Where were you when-" Derek cut himself off and his eyes snapped towards the direction of the house, his head cocking sideways. He was silent for a moment and Stiles glanced over his shoulder at the house that was mostly hidden by fir trees, "Stiles, do you know anyone named Alex?"

"Alex? No, not...personally…oh, oh shit," Stiles pulled his wings into his back and began struggling into his t-shirt, "That's Quinton's sperm donor."

He had one arm through the shirt and was fighting with the second even as he turned to head back to the house. He hadn't made it a step before a scream echoed out from the house. Stiles paused, his eyes widening as shock and panic slammed through him, "No, no, no…"

"Stiles, come on!" Derek said, grabbing the edge of Stiles t-shirt to yank it on the rest of the way, before changing his grip and dragging him forward.

Stiles stumbled but started running after Derek once he caught his footing. No, there was no way this could be happening. Not now. Why did this kind of crap seem to happen to him and his family? He picked up speed and managed to keep pace with Derek who had wolfed out into his Alpha form which, Stiles noted distantly, looked nothing like Peter's. Derek looked more like an over-sized wolf than a crazy, twisted version of one.

The two slammed into the house just in time to see a large, large man twist himself into a midnight colored horse. Derek let out a sound that was more roar than howl and threw himself at the man…horse…kelpie thing, who let out a taunting neigh and danced out of Derek's way. Stiles stumbled around the edge of the room, climbing on furniture to stay out of their way so he could reach his aunt.

He found her in her office, half under her desk like she had just been tossed there like yesterday's garbage. The panic he had felt when he heard her scream turned into full blown out terror at the sight of her, "Aunt Mer! Please, no, please be okay."

He ran his hands over her face before looking down at her body. Her shirt had been half ripped away and there was…Stiles gagged when he saw part of her insides not inside her body where they should have been. He didn't know if he could heal this. He hadn't done any physical healing, hadn't needed to, and he thought – rather hysterically- that potions just weren't going to do the trick this time.

Stiles tried pressing some of her insides back into her, but they kept sliding out and Stiles didn't know what to do. He took a breath and all but yanked his magic forward, willing it to heal his aunt.

"Stiles…please….don't…"

Stiles whipped his head around at her soft, pain filled whisper and he tried to hold back the whimper when he saw her eyes half-mast and the blood on her lips as she coughed, "Aunt Mer, please, let me…"

"No!" She said, as harshly as she could, "It will kill you and not save me," She coughed and more blood pooled around her mouth, "Take care of Quin. Promise me."

"Aunt Mer…"

She scrabbled at his arm and gripped it weakly, "Promise me," She said again, her voice stronger like she was using the last of her energy to form the words.

Stiles sniffed and nodded jerkily, "I promise. I promise Aunt Mer, I swear."

She let out a little sigh before coughing again, "He will be safe then," She whispered before what little grip she had on him went totally lax.

"Oh God!" Stiles bent over and buried his head at her neck, hoping to hear a heartbeat, something. There was no movement though, nothing to show she was still alive, that there was still hope. Stiles pulled away with a sob before he turned and threw up.

There was a hand at the back of his neck in the next moment, urging him away from his aunt and the mess he had made. Stiles followed the guiding numbly and startled when he felt cold water rushing over his hands. He looked up and saw Derek standing next to him in nothing but a few rags left from his clothes tearing. Stiles gulped and looked away. Now was so _not_ the time to be admiring that view. At all. Not when…Stiles pushed away that train of thought and focused on Derek's voice when the Lycan started to speak to him softly.

"I called 911, told them a non-supernatural version of what happened. The police and paramedics are on their way. They will want to talk to you," Derek said. He wiped at Stiles face in silence for a few moments before he asked, "What was he? Shape shifter?"

Stiles cleared his throat before shaking his head, "Kelpie."

"Right, horse into man and vice versa."

"Yeah. Quinton was…was…" Stiles eyes grew wide, "Oh shit, Q!" He yanked his hands from Derek's and ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He flew into Quinton's bedroom, but the five year old wasn't in his bed where he had been left hours before, "Q? Quinton?!"

There was a sniffle and then a scared, softly whispered floated to him, "Stiles?"

Quinton's voice came from the general vicinity of the floor, which meant under the bed, and Stiles dropped to his knees to look under. Quinton was wrapped around a teddy bear that was bigger than him, his green eyes wet with tears and his face red and blotchy and snot covered, "Oh, Q-bean," Stiles whispered, using the nickname from when Quinton was a baby, "Can you come out for me?"

Quinton whimpered and clutched the bear tighter, before shaking his head, "No. Bad man."

Stiles gave a reassuring, if small, smile, "The bad man is gone. My friend chased him off. Do you remember the name Derek?"

"Your friend from home."

"That's right. He came here to talk to me and he fought the bad man for us," Stiles spread his knees to hold his weight before holding out his arms, "Come on out buddy."

Quinton stared at him for a moment longer before he pushed the bear out from under the bed and then followed it out. He climbed to his feet before all but teleporting into Stiles arms. He wrapped little arms tight around Stiles neck and buried his face, "Mama?"

Stiles frowned and dropped down to sit on the floor. Quinton hadn't called Meranda mama in years. He wasn't sure how he liked the regression and what Stiles was about to tell him was likely to make it worse, "Your mom," Stiles said, tightening his arms, "Your mom died, Quinton, saving you."

There was a beat of silence and then Quinton started wailing. It was the cry of a boy who had seen death, knew what it meant, that his mom was never coming back. Quinton's little body started shaking and small hands gripped into the flesh of Stiles upper back and Stiles didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to calm down a child from learning his parent had died because he had been so much older than Quinton was now and had never gotten over his moms death, never would, but this…he gave in to the grief welling in him and buried his face into Quinton's neck to cry along with his little cousin.

Fifteen minutes is what it took for Quinton to cry himself to sleep. Stiles knew it was a brief respite and that he would have to find out what he could to help is cousin grieve. He wished that he had a way to contact his grandfather, who had left earlier in the afternoon to head back to the Cascades. He knew that his dad was down as Quinton's guardian in case anything were to happen, but he didn't know how anything worked, if he could just take Quinton and run back home.

Stiles was startled from his thoughts when a piece of cloth was pressed to his face. He looked up and saw Derek crouching next to them, now dressed in one of Stiles t-shirts and overly baggy sweatpants, a solemn look on his face as he cleaned Stiles up…again. This was becoming a thing and Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about that. After a moment, Derek switched to Quinton, carefully wiping at the mess on the boy's face, his touch light to keep from waking him.

"The police are downstairs," Derek said after a minute or two, "Are you up to talking to them?"

Stiles gave a stilted nod, "Yes. Let's get this over with."

He climbed to his feet, Derek's hand a steady support under his arm, and carefully walked down to the living room, ignoring the paramedics scrambling around in the office. He nodded at the two officers sitting on the love seat before carefully situating himself across from them.

The two men looked at him with kind eyes and Stiles relaxed slightly. The older of the two gave a brief, if pained smile, "I'm Officer Michaels and this is my partner, Officer Desotell. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Yeah," Stiles shifted Quinton a bit to get more comfortable, "I was out at the edge of the woods, talking with my friend Derek," Stiles waved a hand to where Derek was standing, "We had only been out there for about twenty minutes or so, maybe a little longer, when I heard my aunt scream. We both ran to the house and saw a man standing just outside her office. Derek started fighting him and I ran to my aunt. She was," Stiles swallowed heavily at the thought of what he saw, "She was still alive when I found her, but she was coughing up so much blood and her insides were just…out, everywhere. She asked me to take care of Quinton and then she was just…gone. Derek found me a few minutes later and told me that the guy had run off."

Desotell nodded as he wrote, "Do you know who the man was?"

"Yeah," Stiles winced as his voice cracked. He felt the cushion next to him dip and an arm wrap around his shoulders as Derek joined him on the couch, "Yes, it was Quinton's father. My aunt," He took a shuddery breath, "My aunt left him before she even knew she was pregnant. He was…not a nice man. She never told me much about him."

"How about a name?"

Stiles shrugged, "Just his first. His name is Alex. Not sure if it's a nickname or not. He's- He's a big man, tall and very muscular, white. Dark black hair…" Stiles trailed off and met the cops slightly incredulous faces before he snorted, "Cop kid, I knew you were going to ask. He's not from around here either. Meranda did say that he was from somewhere along the coast in California. It's why she moved up here to live with my grandfather. She didn't want to chance running into him."

Michaels looked up, "Your grandfather lives here as well?"

"Yeah, it's his house."

"Where is he?"

Stiles shrugged at that, "I don't know, not really. He left earlier to go back up to the Cascade's. He's a doctor and works with the families that live up in the mountains. And the old man doesn't like technology, so he never has a phone with him."

"Cascade range is huge, we'd never track him down. We'll keep an eye on the house, wait for him to return. Thank you, you've been very helpful. Is there any where you can stay? This is an active crime scene, so…" Desotell trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"We can, uh, stay at a hotel tonight, but…do we need to stay in town? I'm not from here, just visiting."

The two officers looked at each other before turning back to Stiles, "No, but we will need contact information for you," Michaels said before nodding at Quinton, "Is this Quinton, her son?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know if there is any other-"

Stiles interrupted him, knowing where he was going. He grew up around cops, he knew the protocol, "I'm going to take him with me. My dad is down as his guardian in case anything happened to Aunt Meranda. Grandpa is too old to raise another child," He gave a small shrug.

Both men nodded and stood, "Does she keep paper work around? We'll need to verify that. If everything checks out, we'll talk to your father and you'll be free to go."

"Uhm," Stiles shrugged again, ready for this conversation to be over with, "If she kept anything at the house, it would be in her office. She has a firebox under her desk that she kept her work drives and papers in."

"Okay. We'll check that out. Thank you again. We'll give you some time to pack. Let us know when you're leaving so we can get numbers from you," Michaels reached out and shook Stiles and then Derek's hands before following his partner out of the room.

Stiles turned to Derek with wide eyes and whispered somewhat harshly in his worry, "Derek, Quinton's father is a fricking Kelpie! If he knows about Q, how the hell do we keep him safe? My dad can only do so much!"

Derek frowned and tightened his grip around Stiles shoulders, "We'll protect him, don't worry."

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for the comments and the reads and just everything. Thanks as well to my beta She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Sane whose insight and help is so appreciated, you have no idea.

Onwards and enjoy!

* * *

The drive back to Beacon Hills on Saturday was mostly quiet. Derek spent much of the seven hours with his face tense and his fingers clenched around the wheel. He always seemed on the edge of growling whenever they had to stop for gas or bathroom breaks. Quinton slept fitfully in the back, never able to fall in to a deep sleep, always waking up screaming for his mom now that he didn't have his cousin and the Alpha to cuddle him like they had done the night before. And Stiles? Well, Stiles was still dealing with the fact that he had held his aunt's insides, that she had died such a pointless death, that another person in his life was just…gone.

When he had talked to his dad the night before, to talk to him about Quinton and guardianship –because there was no point in talking about another death so dear to them with six hundred miles between them- Stiles had had a breakdown of epic proportions, because how could he do this? How could he help his dad raise a little boy, one who would be looking for his mom around every corner? His dad had talked him down with quiet reassurances while Derek held him and crooned into his other ear, so unlike the Sourwolf that Stiles had met almost eight months ago that it made Stiles tremble in wonder and maybe even fall a little bit in love with him.

And now…now Stiles had a little boy to protect from a threat that may or may not be there. He and Derek had speculated long into the night on whether the kelpie knew about Quinton, whether he had seen the little boy or heard the movements of a scared child hiding from monsters above him. They never did decide on an answer, but figured it was best to act as if the kelpie knew. It would be safer. It also meant that Stiles wasn't just going to have to learn how to control his magic but also how to use it…both offensively and defensively because he'd be damned if something happened to his little cousin because he still couldn't do anything more than make big holes and brew up powerful healing potions.

Stiles sighed and stared out the window, watching as the trees passed by. This close to home, barely half an hour out, and Stiles could feel the embarrassment and anxiety that had plagued him in only short bursts for two weeks start to flood back in to mix with the confusion and grief. He felt his breathing hitch and then hitch again. He pulled uselessly at a seat belt that was suddenly feeling far too constricting.

He reached out and scrambled for purchase on Derek's arm, "Stop," He gasped, "Please stop. Can't…breathe…"

Then the tingling in his fingers started, slow and determined. It spread up his arms and centered around his chin, nose, cheeks, and mouth - a sign that his body was demanding oxygen. He tried to breathe slowly but the panic was already there, already had a tight grip on his mind. Then his breaths became skewed and deep as his body tried to pull air in, hyperventilation hitting and hitting hard.

He didn't feel the car slow down and stop, nor did he hear Derek's concerned voice next to him. He barely felt the release of the seatbelt and the werewolf pulling him out of the car to sit on the ground with his head between his knees. A warm weight draped over his back and it was then that he heard Derek's voice, "Come on Stiles, just breathe. You're okay, relax…that's it, match my breathing. Slowly, slowly…come on now."

Stiles concentrated on the movement of the chest at his back and forced himself to focus enough to match the in and out movement of Derek's breathing, like he had done with his dad years ago before they found that drawing worked so much better. The tingling receded slowly, only to be replaced by the normal shaking and tight chest, "Oh, oh shit, that sucked," Stiles gasped, leaning back into Derek.

"Better?" Derek asked, rubbing at Stiles arms.

Stiles took another shaky breath, "Yeah, yeah, better."

He felt Derek nod and pull away, just as a car pulled up behind them. Derek stood and went to meet the driver and Stiles buried his hands in his face. That had been embarrassing, but Stiles was somewhat grateful that it had happened so close to home, when he only had to spend a little time with Derek afterwards. Because right now he wanted nothing more than to bury his head in the sand and hide for a few hours. It was all ridiculous.

Especially now that he knew what had changed and what hadn't at home. He was worried about how Scott would react when he saw him. He was embarrassed at the fact that he had thrown a teenager equivalent of a temper tantrum that lasted weeks, that it would be so obvious that's what it was to the others in the pack, the ones that barely tolerated him. He knew the looks of condescension he was going to be getting when he returned, and he would be returning for the most part, if only for Scott and apparently Derek who wanted him there.

He still wasn't too sure if he would be bonding himself to the pack again, now that this time the decision was on his shoulders and not Derek's, but that was still a ways off because he had read that spell and it was one of the ones that required special timing and equipment – new moon, ceremonial daggers, and special wine that he would have to make with his magic. Since they were coming up on the full moon in five days, Stiles still had some time to make that decision and plan accordingly. At least moon phases were easier to plan around than solstices. The wine would be awkward, needing to be made the night of the full moon, but he figured he could make it and store it until needed, as the magic wouldn't fade.

Now that he was somewhat calm and thinking as rationally as was possible for him, Stiles climbed to his feet and wrapped his arms around his chest. He turned to look at the back of the car, where Derek was now watching him. Stiles gave him a nod, which was returned, and climbed into the car. A few seconds later, Stiles heard the trunk open and close. He glanced at the driver door as Derek got in and promptly had a bottle of water shoved in his face.

"Thanks," He said, taking it and twisting the cap off. He downed most of it in one go, making a face at the warmth of it because ew, water was never that good after sitting in a black car for who knows how long. He closed the bottle and set it down by his feet before twisting around to check on Quinton.

Quinton was sitting in his booster, staring at Stiles with sad eyes, framed by wetly clumped lashes, and a thumb buried deep in his mouth, "Oh Q," He murmured, sad that his cousin had to witness that, "You thirsty buddy?"

Quinton nodded slowly and Stiles reached down and grabbed the bottle from the floor. He waited until Derek had merged back with the traffic and the ride was smooth before passing it back. He then turned and began digging through the shopping bag at his feet, pulling out a box of animal crackers. He opened those and passed the box back. Quinton made a small noise around the thumb tucked back in his mouth and took the box carefully. Stiles let out a small smile before facing front again.

As he was doing so, he noticed an odd look on Derek's face, "What?"

Derek shrugged and glanced at the rear-view mirror, "Nothing. You're good with him."

Stiles gave a dry laugh, "I'm good with all children. It's because I can be their age mentally when I want to."

"No," Derek shook his head, "I mean, he trusts you," Derek glanced at him, "Even with what happened, he still trusts you to take care of him and you do without hesitating. That's different than just being good with children."

"Derek…" Stiles didn't know what to say to that. Because, what had Derek seen in his life that caused him to be surprised at Stiles just…loving his little cousin? Stiles was pretty sure he wasn't doing anything different than most would do, but then again, Stiles was only seventeen. How many seventeen year old boys stepped up to watch and care for someone so young? Maybe that's what Derek meant.

Either way, it was clear by Derek's expression that that line of conversation was over, though the older man did grace him with a small smile, one that Stiles saw so very rarely. It was the one that made his heart flutter and given that he was in a car with a werewolf, so totally not cool _at all_. And given that the small smile transformed in to a smirk, Stiles was pretty sure Derek had either known or just clued in to what Stiles was going through.

"Jerk," He muttered, looking back out the window.

When they reached the edge of town, Derek spoke up, "Tomorrow you are going to go see Deaton."

"Why?" Stiles asked, suddenly wary, "There's nothing wrong with me. And even if there was, I'm not an animal."

"Stiles," Derek said, kind of harshly, "Don't play dumb. You're only two weeks into being a fae/human hybrid that was training under a full fairy that just died. You are going to need the help and Deaton is the best one to do that. Even if your aunt hadn't died, I would be sending you to Deaton. Half breeds of any species are usually different than full."

They pulled up Stiles driveway and Derek put the car in park before shutting down the engine. He turned to Stiles, "Promise me."

"What? Why do I need to promise?"

Derek stared at him a moment before leaning in close and flashing his teeth, "Because if you don't, I'll rip your throat out."

Stiles stared back at him, heart hammering but not out of fear. God, no, that was so not fear. Stiles had to get out of this car _now_, "Fine, fine, I promise," He gulped and scrambled for the door handle, "I'll go see Deaton tomorrow, once everything is settled."

Derek nodded and leaned back to open his own door, "Before. You are going to go see Deaton before we have the pack meeting. Also, bring Quinton. The pack needs to get used to his smell."

Stiles watched him get out of the car and turned to bang his head on the dash with a whimper. This was just going to suck. So very, very much.

* * *

Stiles started out of his sleep, blinking his eyes as he wondered what woke him. It hadn't been nightmares, he hadn't been out long enough for that. He looked down at Quinton, who was curled in his arms. The boy was sleeping soundlessly and Stiles patted around his bottom to see if perhaps he had wet the bed, but all was dry. With a frown, he glanced around the room, only to jerk when he saw Scott sitting on his windowsill.

Stiles climbed out of bed carefully, spreading the blankets back down over Quinton when the five year old murmured quietly. When Stiles was sure he was settled, he turned to face his friend, only to find himself pulled into wiry arms. After a moment, he wrapped his own arms around Scott's back and buried his face into the hair warmed neck next to his face.

They spent long moments just standing there, neither saying a word. Finally, Scott pulled away, only to press his forehead against Stiles, "Don't…"

"Scott?"

Scott shook his head, "Please don't do that again."

"Okay," Stiles said with a nod, "I'm sorry." Though he didn't exactly know which part he was apologizing for; that he, like a child throwing a tantrum, ran away to avoid any confrontations or that he had let slip his insecurities about his place in the pack through his actions.

Scott tightened his arms before letting them drop and he stepped back. Stiles shivered at the sudden lack of werewolf heat and went to his closet to grab out a hoodie. He slid it on before turning back to his best friend, only to find Scott staring at Quinton in confusion, "Stiles?"

Stiles sighed and grabbed one of the two baby monitors off of the nightstand before nodding his head towards the door to urge Scott to follow him. The baby monitors had been his dad's idea after they had read that young children grieved differently and that many could become prone to nightmares and bed wetting, especially after a parent died. With as much as Quinton loved to sleep, it seemed prudent.

When they reached the kitchen, Stiles set about pulling out the makings for hot chocolate. He had just put the pot on the stove when Scott cleared his voice, "Stiles, why is Quinton here?"

Stiles sighed and pressed his hands against the stove, his head dropping down as his eyes closed. He had known the question was coming, but the pain was still raw, "Aunt Meranda was killed, late Friday afternoon."

"What? How? Were you there?"

Stiles pushed himself upwards and scrubbed his face before turning to the cabinet where he hid the good chocolate, the dark stuff that was actually good for his dad in moderate amounts, "Yeah, it was Quinton's father. Aunt Mer always said he had been abusive and overly possessive. You, um, probably don't want to know how. It was bad."

Stiles began grating the chocolate down, realizing rather quickly what a great way that was to take his anger and frustration out and so started frantically running the chocolate up and down, only stopping when he grated his fingers in the process. He turned the chunk of chocolate sideways and started again. This time, Scott was there to stop him before his fingers hit the metal. When Stiles blinked at him, Scott gave him a small smile, "I prefer my hot chocolate non-bloody. It's a thing."

"Ha ha," Stiles said, grabbing the shavings and dropping them into the pot. He accepted the milk Scott handed him and poured some out before handing it back. Stiles then grabbed some spices from the cabinet as he stirred, adding pinches of this and that as the chocolate melted into the rapidly warming milk. Just as it started to bubble, ready to foam up and over the edge, Stile pulled the pot from the burner and poured the liquid into the two mugs Scott had out. It was a process that the two of them had down pat by now and even though it had been months since they had had hot chocolate together, Stiles was still warmed by the fact that they were still able to do it without any stumbles.

Scott took the mugs to the table while Stiles rinsed the pot before joining him at the island. When they were both sitting, Scott broached the topic that had probably been brimming over in his mind for the last two weeks, "Why'd you leave?" He shook his head, "I knew you were going to your aunts, but…you left early and without saying anything. Why?"

Stiles stared down at his hot chocolate like it should hold all of the answers to all of life's questions. With a sigh, he let go of his mug and sat back, reaching for his zipper, "The first thing I want to tell you is that I never ever lied to you. Well…not about this."

"Uhm," Scott stared at him with wide eyes that made him look like a puppy with his crooked jaw and floppy hair, "Okay?"

Stiles nodded, somewhat sharply, and unzipped his hoodie. He pulled it off and tossed it onto the island before yanking off his shirt as well. As soon as it was clear of his head, he willed his wings out. Which, given that Scott's eyes looked like they were about to bug out, must have looked pretty impressive, "Scott?"

"_Wings_," Scott squeaked out, "_glowing…_"

"Oh," Stiles glanced over his shoulder, "Yeah, they tend to do that. I have to work on controlling that. It would be a pretty big inconvenience at night if I'm trying to stay hidden."

"Incon…what?" Scott asked, eyes still wide. It was kind of giving Stiles a complex.

"Oh come on. What, only you can be a supernatural creature around here?"

That seemed to snap Scott out of whatever weird trance he'd been in, "What? No! Of course not! Stiles, I would never think that. What are you?" He asked, his voice hushed, like he was afraid John was going to rush into the room at his voice only to find his son glowing. Hah, wasn't Scott in for a shock on that front. Poor boy would probably have a heart attack if he was still capable of it once he learned that the sheriff was well aware of what they had been getting up to.

"My mom was a fairy but my dad is still human. I'm a hybrid. It all kind of manifested that Sunday morning when I told you I had the flu. All the magic forcing its way through the human barriers caused me to, well, turn blue and ache like hell. It wasn't pretty."

Scott's eyes suddenly narrowed, "So you did lie to me."

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Only about that. And while we are on the subject of lying, let's have a little talk about Monday and the reason I left early."

"What are you talking about? I didn't even see you Monday," Scott said, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"No, that's because I didn't make it past the school doors. I heard a lovely conversation, thanks to my hearing which was glitching at the time. Does 'he's not pack anyway' sound familiar?"

"No? Why would it?"

Stiles stared at him, wishing he had thought to crank his hearing up to tell if Scott was lying. Although, going by the set jaw and still furrowed brows, Scott might actually be telling the truth which…wait, what? "Scott, I overheard you talking with Jackson and Isaac Monday morning. Jackson was talking about how fun the pack meeting had been. I heard you interrupt him and he interrupted you right back."

"Yeah, yeah, that happened. But Isaac and I walked away after he got done talking about how you tended to ramble. I didn't want to hear what he was planning on adding to that," Scott paused before his eyes widened and his eyebrows jumped in shock, "He said you weren't pack?"

Stiles nearly flinched when the last words came out as a growl, "Yeah."

And in amazing proof that Scott wasn't dumb, he managed to put two and two together into a four that made Stiles want to crawl under the table and die, because that was a look he never wanted to see on Scott's face ever again. It looked an awful lot like betrayal, "You didn't think…I thought you trusted me Stiles."

"Of course I do! I never stopped, not even after that. It's just…" Stiles sighed and gripped his hair, "It wasn't a matter of trust. I wasn't even mad at you or anything. I was mad at _myself_ because I thought at the time that I had made horrible assumptions about the pack and my place in it. I was embarrassed, and yeah I was hurt because I couldn't figure out why you wouldn't tell me, but in the end it was all on me. I ran because I thought I needed time to not only get control of the fairy thing, but that I would need it to get my head around the fact that I had been deluding _myself._"

Scott's head tipped to the side, "So what changed? Because you're talking an awful lot in past tense, so you obviously know better now."

"Well, Aunt Meranda for one, though I didn't realize it at the time. I, um," Stiles bit his lip before sucking in a breath, "I ran into Allison," He breathed out, ready to jump and console his friend in case the waterworks Scott had been prone to all of February started back up again.

"Oh?" Scott perked up, but there was not a tear in sight. It was pretty amazing, "How is she? What did she say?"

Stiles smiled, though it was mostly out of relief, "She's fine. Still finding her footing at her new school. Apparently there is not a Lydia Martin there to drag her under her wing. She was up in Tacoma with her dad for a conference and we ran into each other shopping. She, uh, told me to get my head out of my ass and talk to Derek, because teenage boys were not only idiots but that in general, bitten wolves might not know that it was possible for humans to be bound to the pack. Oh, and that if Derek was starting to trust _her_ more then I was already in, because six months had nothing on sixteen years."

Scott, who had been nodding along to most of what Stiles was saying, let out a big grin, "She is so insightful! I'm glad she's doing good, too."

Stiles squinted at him, "You do know she basically insulted you, Isaac, and Jackson yes? Because she was sticking up for me?"

"Well, yeah, but it's true. Granted more so for Jackson, but for all of us. I just assumed you were pack, you know. It takes a lot of trust with an Alpha for a beta to feel all of the pack bonds. We're getting there, but we're not there yet. And Jackson probably never will be. He just can't handle being told what to do."

Stiles shook his head with a smile, "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. I'm actually _not_ pack anymore. I was, but Derek said the link broke that Sunday when the fae magic took over."

And there were the puppy dog eyes again. Shit, had Scott been practicing that look in a mirror or something? Because Stiles didn't quite remember them being that potent and it had only been two weeks, "So you can't be pack anymore?"

"I never said that. But a fairy can only bond to a werewolf pack with magic. So this time it's on me, not Derek, to become a part of the pack."

"Oh, good. So you're going to right? 'Cause Derek's been kind of weird. He was all kinds of nuts that Sunday and none of us knew why, like he regressed back to when we met him. Then, when we met up for training on Wednesday, he was kind of resigned and just looked worried. Then he told me Friday that I was in charge of the pack for the next few weeks and took off. I had hoped it was to go after you. I was glad I was right."

The boys exchanged smiles before Stiles dropped his, "I don't know Scott. Maybe…maybe just an alliance is safer. I mean, you and Derek are the only ones that want me in the pack anyway."

"That's not true!"

"Shh," Stiles hissed, glancing at the monitor. When nothing but a soft snore came through, he looked back at Scott, "It kind of is."

Scott shook his head, "No, Isaac does too. He's been like a, like a kicked puppy the past two weeks. It's been kind of sad, really. Jackson's just a douche. And anyway, I think what Derek thinks is what matters. If he wants you in the pack, it shouldn't matter at all what Jackson thinks."

"It's not just Jackson, Scott. Erica and Boyd don't even like me. Erica _growls_ at me whenever I'm around," Scott blushed at that and Stiles leaned back warily, "What?"

"Well…it's just been…kinda _obvious_ lately that you've gotten over Lydia."

"_What_?" Stiles asked, his voice coming out in a weird mix of stilted and deadpan at that.

Scott waved a hand, "You…around Derek. Erica has…had…a thing for him, well, more hero worship thing, cause he gave her power? She thinks she had a claim staked on him of something because of how he acted when he bit her. She's been just as nuts when you were gone. Worry the first week and then when Derek left, she kind of spilled everything because she got so angry. We have her pretty much straightened out now. The growling should stop."

"That's not…that's not at all reassuring dude," Stiles gasped, "Oh my God, that means that Derek probably really does know. I thought he was just fucking with me in the car. Well, he was, but I didn't think he really _knew_, you know?"

Scott winced, "Sorry, bro."

Stiles sighed. Didn't that totally figure. Not that it mattered anyway in the long run. What the hell would Derek see in him anyway? Besides, Stiles was used to pining even with the other person aware. See example A: Lydia Martin. But unlike Lydia, Derek had been throwing small actions out there, enough to keep the hope alive, which yeah, wasn't cool really. If it kept up for too long, Stiles would likely explode. Case in point, Derek driving up to Washington to see him, to find…out…wait…

"Wait, hang on…rewinding the conversation here. Derek left last Friday?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because except for a glance on Monday, I didn't see him until _this_ Friday. Jesus, he was up there for a week!"

Scott shook his head, "Well, he's always been kind of stalker-ish."

Stiles nodded in agreement, but his mind was already drifting. A week. The alpha had been up there since last Friday. It made him wonder how Derek had found him, but going by the time frame, the most reasonable idea was that he had followed his father. Or, given that his dad was, you know, the sheriff, he had followed on his dad's permission. Which would so be likely because his father was a sneaking sneaker when he wanted to be - Stiles had to have gotten it from somewhere, after all. But there was something nagging him about all of this, something he quite couldn't put his finger on.

He shrugged it off. He'd worry about it later, when he wasn't about to face plant into his mug of cocoa, "Are you staying the night? Because I am wiped man."

Scott's eyes lit up, "You kidding me? It's waffles tomorrow."

Stiles groaned. Right, waffles.

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary.

A/N: Well, this hasn't been beta'd, but it's past my posting day by a few so I figured I'd throw it up anyway. It's been done for about a month now. I'm not _entirely_ happy with this chapter…kinda feels like it is missing something. And please remember, haven't seen past the pool episode, so my apologies for the ooc-ness for some (Deaton, mainly….Derek as well to an extent, but it's a pack!fic, so, really….what are you expecting? I tried with Derek, though, I really did).

**SEE CHAPTER END NOTE!**

Onwards and enjoy!

* * *

When John came down the stairs Sunday morning, looking ready for a hearty breakfast of waffles before a long grueling shift at work, what he saw had him stopping at the bottom and blinking. Stiles laughed at him silently before shifting, because despite that he was comfortable, he had to pee and was getting pretty hungry himself. He started extracting himself from the puppy pile that consisted of him, Scott, Quinton, and Derek –who had shown up a few hours prior, intent on making Stiles go to Deaton, even if it meant showing up at the ass crack of dawn.

Since Derek had still looked half asleep when he crawled in the window and his bed would certainly not hold another person, let alone one of Derek's size, Stiles had grabbed up all the blankets and pillows he could find before he relocated them to the living room floor. He had been awake for the last half hour, had heard his dad moving around getting ready, just enjoying the warmth that was emanating from the three bodies completely surrounding him. It had been doing wonderful things for his nerves and had kept the nightmares at bay, like it had the night before when Derek had invaded his and Quinton's bed after the first one (and only one) he had had, because nothing said nightmare more than holding a loved one's insides in your hands and Stiles was kind of prone to them.

He slid Quinton off of his stomach and on to Derek's side, watching in amusement as Quinton grabbed hold of Derek's arm like it was a favorite bear. He huffed a laugh before he finished extracting himself. When he finally stumbled to his feet and realized he hadn't woken the other three, he raised his arms up in a V for victory, turning to face his dad in the process. John just shook his head and grabbed the back of Stiles neck, pushing him towards the downstairs bathroom.

When he walked into the kitchen few minutes later, bladder gloriously empty, his face fell when he saw Derek manhandling his waffle iron. His victory had been so short lived. Derek took a look at his face and started chuckling, causing John to look up from his paper.

John snorted and looked back down, prompting Stiles to stick his tongue out at his dad. He walked over to the counter and hip checked Derek away from his waffle iron, "Make some coffee or something. This is mine," He cradled the iron lovingly, carrying it further down the counter.

Stiles had always been a decent cook, had gotten far better at it after his mom died, but waffles…now those were something that he and his mom had taken pride in making, that he still took pride in now, long after her death, the process a bittersweet memory that he clung to. It had been a Sunday morning tradition for as long as he could remember and would continue to be so as long as he had a say in it. Most people, even if they voiced objections over how boring it was to have the same thing every weekend (Scott), tended to change their tune after trying his waffles (again, Scott).

When he poured the first of the batter onto the iron, he saw Scott stumble into the kitchen with Quinton clinging to his back. Scott gave him a dreamy look along with a thumbs up, "I love waffle Sunday's," he said, depositing his charge onto one of the chairs.

Derek quickly passed Quinton a cup of milk with a straw and Stiles made a mental note to go shopping as soon as possible for sippy cups and other essentials. They had only had so much room to grab stuff for the five year old –the Camaro wasn't exactly the epitome of space- and kitchen supplies just hadn't been on their minds at the time.

And granted, Quinton was pretty good with a glass, but there was just something about having a portable, spill proof drink that was essential to young children as they ran havoc in a home. Stiles had still used sippy cups until he was seven, when he could finally handle the pop top of a water bottle without getting frustrated.

Derek raised an eyebrow, "What is it with you guys and waffles? I'm pretty sure the Sheriff was stroking the iron when I walked in before."

John laughed, "Oh, just you wait son. Soon, you'll be stroking the waffle iron when you see it sitting out, knowing what's to come."

Stiles flicked his dad on the back of the head and ignored the blush that slid across his cheeks. He soon had three ready to go and passed them out before pouring out enough of the batter for himself. Scott had already laid out the syrup, cut up strawberries, and cool whip along with the forks so the three tucked in while he made his. He had just flipped the iron when an unholy _moan_, for a lack of a better word, rumbled from Derek. Stiles blush from his dad's praise, which had just barely receded, came back full-fledged, "Uhm…"

"This is…" Derek mumbled before shoving another fork full into his mouth.

Stiles saw his dad nod in satisfaction before saying, "Told you," around his own mouthful. Scott and Quinton didn't bother saying anything, both of their mouths stuffed full. At this point, Stiles was just grateful that someone had had the foresight to cut down Quinton's waffle, because at the rate he was stuffing himself, he might have tried to just shove the whole waffle in. He hadn't made these at his aunts; she and his grandfather hadn't had a waffle iron, so this was Quinton's first time having them as well.

"So, Derek, not that I mind," John started some time later, after setting his fork down on his empty plate, "But why are you here so early? Scott I can understand, waffle Sunday," Scott grinned happily around one of the last bites of his second waffle, "But you didn't even know about them."

Stiles rolled his eyes, starting in on his second one as well, "I could have told him, dad."

"But you didn't."

"…But I didn't."

Derek rolled his eyes at the byplay, showing that he had spent enough time in the sheriff's presence lately to be comfortable around him, "I'm taking Stiles to go see Deaton. Deaton's a druid and pretty knowledgeable on all supernatural walks of life and the best one to help Stiles now. We need to work out a schedule out with him so that Stiles fae training doesn't interfere with both school and pack business. We have a pack meeting tonight as well, so I was thinking about tagging along while he went shopping for Quinton. We can just head straight to the house after."

John nodded, "Good, good. On both accounts. Not too much, you understand. I'm sure Stiles grandfather will be back and willing to send down the rest of Quinton's things soon. No need to spend too much money for stuff that we don't need double or triple of."

"Of course sir."

John squinted at Derek, "I'm pretty sure that of course was sarcastic. No wonder Stiles likes you so much. His mom did too, for that matter. You were heavily sarcastic even at fifteen. Dry sarcasm draws him in like flies to manure. He gets that from her."

"I am sitting right here," Stiles said, poking his fork in his dad's direction and wrinkling his nose at the manure comparison, the quip enough to bring him out of the stupor he had fallen into when Derek had just kept on talking about their plans for the day. Stiles was pretty sure that was the most he had ever heard Derek say in one go. It had been kind of unnerving, actually, "And besides, it's not just Derek's sarcasm that I like."

Scott choked on his waffle and pushed himself away from the table slightly. He stood up and rushed towards the bathroom, the shutting of the door barely masked the sudden cackle that came from the young werewolf. Stiles stared after him and thought back over not only just his words but the talk he had with Scott last night and groaned silently. Subtle, Scott, real subtle. He cleared his throat, "Anyone want any more?"

John rolled his eyes, "Not enough batter for any more, son. Just…start cleaning up. I'm heading in. I'll eat lunch at the station and pick something up for dinner on the way home, so don't worry about me," He stood and pressed kiss to the top of Stiles head before doing the same with Quinton, who blew a raspberry at him, "Have fun today. Be good, all of you!" He yelled the last down the hallway, where an affirmative from Scott rumbled back to them. He sighed, "See you later."

"Bye dad," Stiles said, as the door closed behind him. Stiles stood and lifted Quinton to the floor, "Go wash up and brush your teeth. I put your stuff out in the bathroom upstairs. My old stool is in there for you too."

Quinton saluted him before clomping out of the room. Stiles grinned and began to pick up the plates, Derek following suit to help him. Between the two of them, they had the kitchen to rights in no time. Stiles ran upstairs to dress himself and help Quinton, before meeting Derek and Scott in the living room, "Ready?" Stiles asked.

"I should be asking you that question," Derek replied, opening the door for them. The group of four piled into Derek's car, Scott going along not even questioned because of not only his place in the pack as Derek's second, but also his place in Stiles life.

* * *

Deaton was waiting for them at the door when they pulled into the lot and they quickly piled into the vets office. Deaton looked at all of them, his gaze lingering on both Stiles and Quinton before he gave a soft ah, "I understand now."

At Stiles look of confusion, Deaton explained, "Derek was not very forthcoming when he called last night. He said that I would need to see it for myself. Stiles, I will be able to help you, do not doubt that. Derek did mention that you had been receiving some training. He also told me the reason it stopped," He added on, when Stiles felt his face fall at the mention of his aunt. He had been doing so good that morning, too, dammit.

"Hybrid training is always different than full blood training. Powers are often different, because of the mingling blood and every hybrid child is different, regardless if the two children have the same blood. This is often proven with siblings," Deaton went on, "We will probably work with your magic the most. I trust the pack to help with the athletic side of things, as that will probably have been enhanced as well."

"He still can't fly," Quinton chortled from Scott's back, always a source of amusement for the child..

"Well," Deaton said with his usual small smile, aimed at Quinton, "We'll work on that too."

At the mention of athletics, Stiles eyes had strayed to Derek's car – more specifically, the trunk of Derek's car, where the case that held his moon blades rested. He hadn't told Derek what was in the case when he grabbed it, but had asked if he could keep it in the werewolves trunk for safe keeping, knowing that should training or any danger occur, he would likely be with the Alpha or the pack. He jerked back when keys were suddenly dangling an inch from his nose. He blinked at Derek, who jingled the keys, "Go get the box."

Stiles nodded, "Right," He took the keys and stepped outside. He grabbed the case from the trunk and went back in. He tossed the keys back to Derek before holding the case up to Deaton, "I bonded with these, on a shopping trip last week. I don't know much about them, the man who was hanging on to them wasn't really talkative."

Deaton nodded his head to the counter and stiles laid the box down before flipping the lid. He heard Derek and Scott gasp behind him, while Deaton nodded again next to him, "Impressive," Deaton murmured, leaning in, "Very impressive. Moon blades– forged on the night of the full moon and etched on the night of the new and curved to represent the waning moons."

Stiles snorted, "Everything revolves around the moon."

Deaton raised an eyebrow at him, "That is because the moon is a powerful force over the earth. It should not be surprising. The sun as well, but magic tends to produce better results at night and during moon phases."

"So…moon blades. Awesome," Stiles said, looking down at them.

"Yes, but you knew that part already. I'm assuming you're curious about the runes."

Stiles nodded, "Yeah."

Deaton reached under the counter and pulled out a book, "Let's see. These are all elemental runes. You have your basics here; earth, fire, air, and water," Deaton pointed to each as he went, "Then you have your spiritual elementals; holy, dark, and psych. These here," He pointed to one of the blades on the double sided dagger, "These are lesser elementals, more specific in what they represent. Life, wind, lightning, aqua, and ice. Those have less area to play with, but are more powerful for their specificity. This last one here that is on each handle twice is the materia rune. Materia is Latin for materials and in terms of the rune means knowledge. Once you have the knowledge of the runes and know how to handle it, the materia runes activate to allow you that usage.

"As an example, you could not pick up this blade and suddenly infuse it with lightening. Yes, you know that the rune is there, but you do not have the knowledge to perform it," Deaton said.

Stiles nodded, "Yeah, makes sense. I can still make these things bad ass if I had to, even without using the runes."

Deaton smiled, "Yes, you can. You already know how?"

"Well, my control is a little shaky still. I tend to think too big. That's what…well, that's what my aunt was working on me with before she died. But yeah, I think I know how, even if I can't yet. It would be kind of impractical with the scythe dagger, but the dual blade? I can manipulate its size."

Deaton nodded, "Very good," He looked over at Derek, "What days are your meetings?"

"Sundays and Wednesdays for the entire pack. Fridays for just Scott, but I was thinking of including Stiles in that."

Deaton nodded thoughtfully, "That might be a good idea. Stiles, has anyone talked to you about lacrosse?"

"No?"

Deaton grimaced and sent a glare at Derek, who just raised an eyebrow. The vet sighed, "It might be a good idea to think about quitting. Lacrosse is a high contact sport and now you have fragile wings stored into a skin pocket in your back. Imagine how painful it would be if a player rammed into you or knocked you to the ground. And do not mention the padding. In the instance of your wings, it will just make things worse."

Stiles scowled. That wasn't fair to ask him of that, not now. Not with everything still tilting on its axis. It didn't matter that he was a bench warmer or not. That was currently asking a little too much, "I'll think about it."

"That's all I can ask. In any case, we will meet on Monday's, Tuesday's, and Thursday's until you have more control and then we will scale back. I think from seven to ten should suffice," Deaton cocked his head lightly, "Out of curiosity, what _are_ you able to do?"

"Uhm, my aunt had me working on holes for seedlings. She was inclined to plants so she did what she knew. I haven't done much else, potions and poultices for my grandfather."

"Show me. The holes, not the potions."

Stiles gulped when he had three suddenly interested faces peering at him from the other side of the counter, "Oh boy, if that's not enough to give a person performance anxiety. Knock it off."

None of them did and Stiles rolled his eyes. He should have known better. He really should have. He cleared his throat and walked over to the plant Deaton had in the corner, the group following along.

Stiles cupped his hands over the dirt and sent a plea to whoever was listening to let this work. The holes he had left in his aunt's garden had still been far, far larger than she had wanted out of him. Though to be fair, they had been less tree size and more full grown bush size, but still. He closed his eyes and willed his magic to do his bidding. He heard a pop, still louder than it should be, followed by a gasping laugh from Scott and a high pitched giggle from Quinton.

Stiles opened his eyes before groaning. Not only was the hole still far too big, but the dirt spray back had landed on Derek's face, "Sorry," He muttered, clenching his teeth to hold back the laughter that was tickling his throat. Derek was wearing the same look on his face that his aunt had been the first time he had done this.

"Yes," Deaton said, clearing his throat, "I can see the need for control training. Although, we might have to go a slightly less messy route to get that control, maybe something you can do at home as well. I will think about it and let you know tomorrow. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few dogs that are due their medications."

The group waved to Deaton and made their way outside. Scott looked at them and hoisted Quinton a bit further up his back, "So, where to next?"

"Shopping," Stiles said, "We kind of haphazardly packed for Q. He has a major lack of clothes for one and some other essentials. Not to mention, Aunt Mer hadn't had time to go shopping recently, so his shampoo and stuff is pretty low and ready for replacing too."

They climbed into the car and Derek drove them to the edge of town, where a recently erected Shopko stood. The men had barely been in the store for ten minutes before they broke down, "I can't do this," Stiles said, holding up a shirt to Quinton, who shrugged at him, "He's going to wind up dressed like me. Hell, he's half way there," He all but whined, especially since Quinton was wearing pretty close to the same outfit he had worn when they ran into Allison, just with an Iron Man shirt and a red open button top instead.

Really, the only difference between Stiles and Quinton was the fedora Quinton was attached to and the fact that the five year old preferred khaki cargos and workman boots, whereas Stiles was all about jeans and shoes you could, you know, run for your life in.

"Okay," Scott said, sounding a little panicked, "Lets…let's put the clothes on hold. You know Lydia and Erica will want to dress him anyway."

"Good idea," Stiles said, steering the cart out of the little boys section, "Definitely a good idea. So, he needs some toys and books. That should be easy enough. We can handle that…right?"

Well, they could have if they weren't teenage boys – and one twenty three year old man who still felt like he was a teenager at times. They hit the toy aisle and essentially had more fun than was strictly necessary, all in the name of trying out whether the toys were "safe" for a five year old. That explanation had come about after Stiles had hit a nerf ball into the back of an associates head. They ended up purchasing the nerf baseball set out of guilt, along with a few lego sets that Quinton had whined for. As they made their way back to the main aisle, Stiles couldn't help but sigh like the teeny bopper girl he really was as Derek sneakily placed some puzzles and a few other child friendly games into the cart when he thought no one was looking. Derek could be such a softie sometimes.

They then made their way back to the front, all of them detouring off to the candy aisle like it was calling to them, because they all had sweet tooths that they were not at all shy about. They found the books near the electronics section in the front corner and Stiles allowed Quinton to pick his own out. The five year old surprised them all when he grabbed a few of the coloring and activity books instead of reading books, which meant a detour back to stationary to get crayons.

A few aisles closer to the registers they found the body care section of the store and since Stiles was just replacing already owned things, he ducked in and grabbed what was needed, "Oh," Stiles said, stopping when they got to one of the registers, "We forgot kitchen stuff. Also, maybe some kids movies? All of ours are on VHS and the VCR doesn't work anymore. Although, give the cost of movies, it might be cheaper to just buy a new VCR."

Derek shook his head, "We have an hour until the meeting, so let's split up. Stiles, you and Scott go pick out some movies. I'll go find the kids supplies for the kitchen. Grab a VCR as well. I'll buy that. Call it a gift."

Stiles stared at Derek for a moment before he impulsively hugged the Alpha, "Thanks," he whispered as he pulled back. He grabbed the cart handle and looked at Scott, "Race ya," he said, before running down to the electronics section, laughing along with Quinton. He didn't care if it was childish. It was needed to cover his stupidly racing heart. Because damned if that short, one-sided hug had felt just as good as cuddling Derek while sleeping did.

TBC…

So….yeah….next up? Pack meeting…fun yes? Just giving a little hint of what's to come.

**Also…yay or nay, a pov interlude from Derek's perspective? Vote on it! **(This has been bugging me for a few weeks now, so, to the readers I go!)


	10. Chapter 10

See chapter one for disclaimer and summary.

A/N: Two things. One, hasn't been beta'd. Sorry about that and the wait. It got a little crazy in RL. Two, thank you all for the wonderful comments and for voting! I will be doing a Derek POV, but probably not like you're thinking. (some were hoping this chapter would be the one, but no) His chapters…and yes, that is plural….are more like intermissions. You'll see Derek's first of two POV chapters coming up soon, two more chapters between this one and that.

Onward and enjoy!

* * *

They reached the newly restored Hale house with fifteen minutes to spare before the meeting, but even then it looked like they were the last ones there. Derek climbed out of the car, but not before giving Stiles a friendly, if not affectionate, cuff upside the head. Scott leaned forward and pressed his lips to Stiles ears, "You sure you want to do this?" he asked, voice more breath than whisper.

Stiles let out a gust of air before giving Scott a thumb's up. He meant what he said, about being there for his best friend and Derek, no matter what. And in order to do that? Stiles and the rest of the pack had to get over whatever it was that was going on, because the way they were now was not the most conducive to proper teamwork. Not to mention he needed the power of the pack to protect Quinton. He couldn't _not_ do this, Quinton had to come first.

"Okay then," Scott said, still keeping his voice low, "Get out of the car and go in. I'll bring Quin."

"Right," Stiles said, giving his friend a pained smile before slipping from the car, leaving the door open so Scott could climb out.

Stiles gave his body a shake, mentally prepping himself for what was sure to come. He stepped up the stairs and walked through the front door. He stopped in the entryway and listened for Derek, to get some sense of where the pack was. He heard Erica's voice echo through the hall, "…two weeks Derek! Did you get sick of tailing him? I can't see it being much fun."

Stiles rolled his eyes. Really? They were going to start before he even got in there? He walked down the hallway, following where her voice had echoed from. He stood in the doorway to the living room, taking in that everyone was indeed there. Erica and Boyd were cuddled together on the couch with Isaac's legs thrown over theirs. Jackson was sprawled in the loveseat with Lydia next to him, seemingly putting up with her filing down his nails, but Stiles could tell by the half-mast eyes that he was totally enjoying it.

His eyes flickered back to Derek, just in time to see the alpha flick his fingers at Stiles behind his back. It wasn't a go away motion, more of an acknowledgement to tell Stiles that Derek knew he was there…and wow, when did he pick up the ability to read Derek? He cleared his throat, more to distract himself, but managed to draw the eye of everyone in the room.

Erica's eyes narrowed, "I see you're back. What are you doing here?"

Derek flashed her a red-eyed glare, "I invited him."

Isaac ignored Erica and their alpha, instead flashing Stiles a grin as he stood up, "It's good to see you," he said, stepping in to pull Stiles into a hug.

Stiles clenched and released his hands a few times, not sure what to do. Isaac had never hugged him before. He lightly patted the werewolf on the arm and nodded at him when he pulled back.

"We were worried," Isaac continued, "What happened?"

"That's why he's here. Sit down Isaac," Derek said. He waited until Isaac retook his seat and then spanned a glance over the assembled group, "There are numerous topics that need to be covered tonight…"

Jackson groaned, interrupting Derek, "Numerous? We're going to be here all night if Stilinski stays."

Derek growled and Jackson slumped back with a huff and crossed arms, "And that is one of the things we're going to talk about- your treatment of Stiles," Derek paused, waiting until all eyes were back on him, "It has become apparent that some of you, if not all, were under the wrong assumption about Stiles and his place in this pack."

Erica raised an eyebrow, "Wrong? Derek, he's a human – a cling on that we got stuck with because Scott finally got his head out of his ass. What," Erica leaned over and looked past Derek to Stiles, "Did you get upset over how we were treating you and run away?"

Stiles didn't know what was showing on his face, but whatever it was, Stiles knew Erica had read it pretty accurately when her eyes widened and she said, "Oh my God, you did. You totally ran away for two weeks because of your hurt feelings. Wow, that's…that's pretty sad, Stilinski."

Jackson snorted at that and Stiles looked heavenward for help. This is exactly what he was expecting. He didn't know why he had been _hoping_ for better, really, because no one in the pack was stupid. It just sucked that some of them enjoyed feeling superior over weaklings, and to them right now, Stiles was that weakling.

"Enough!" Derek yelled, his eyes glowing to the point that Stiles could see the reflection of them in the glass of a painting on the opposite wall, "This is exactly what I was talking about. Erica, Jackson, did it ever occur to either of you that if Stiles wasn't pack, I wouldn't have him here? Not only is Stiles good at what he does, but the bond I had with him transferred from Scott when he submitted to me. He's been pack for months. If he hadn't been, he would have been doing research…from a distance."

Both teens clamped their mouths shut at that, eyeing Stiles warily. Stiles didn't look at either of them, keeping his gaze on Derek, because one of them was going to make the connection. And he was right when Erica straightened slightly, "Wait, what do you mean had?" She asked, "You can _break_ the bond?"

Boyd reached over and gently tugged one of her curls, "That's how Omega's happen," He rumbled, before turning to look at Stiles, who met his eyes, "What happened?"

Derek turned and looked at Stiles, who caught the movement and looked back. This was it. He was not happy at all about the pack knowing about this, not at all, because it was obvious that at _least_ two of them still didn't like him, three if Lydia followed Jackson, but she was too busy observing to add in her two cents. Those were the times that she scared the crap out of him, because she could pick up on things that no one else could and her face was perfectly blank, so Stiles had no idea what she was thinking.

Stiles nodded shortly and slid his flannel off. Jackson was so going to make fun of his wings, he knew it, though if he got called Tinkerbell he wasn't going to be responsible for his actions. That puff of air that he still couldn't control would make a pretty good, if essentially harmless, weapon. More of a prank that could possibly scare the crap out of someone. Now there was an idea. He'd have to test that on Jackson.

"Two weeks ago, the bond I had with Stiles snapped. There are three ways that can happen…"

"And one of them requires stripping?" Erica muttered under her breath to Boyd.

Derek threw her a glare before continuing, "One way is death, but Scott had talked to him after it happened so that wasn't it. Another is if he willingly breaks it. But he wasn't aware of the bond beyond the cursory and thought that it only existed between the wolves. The third…is if another force breaks it."

And here was Lydia perking up, "Another force? A supernatural one, obviously, since the bond is supernatural in nature," She looked Stiles up and down, "You're no longer human."

All the wolves jumped to their feet and Stiles took a step back. Okay, this was…unexpected. He didn't think they'd try to attack him, which is what it looked like Erica and Jackson were trying to do. Which, wow, hypocritical of Jackson, totally, "Hey, now, no reason for that," He said with another step back, "I come in peace."

"Just show them!" Derek growled, shoving Erica backwards when she surged out of Boyd's arms with a snarl, halfway morphed into her beta form.

"Gah!"Stiles whipped off his shirt, popped his wings out, and let his hair bleed blue with the tints of the healing part of his magic. As if they had been doused with calming potions, all the wolves just stopped and stared at him with wide eyes. It was kind of comical for Erica, her eyes being so wide and slack even though she was still wolfed out.

"You…have wings," Jackson said, the sardonic amusement so very apparent, "Did they come with magic fairy dust? Do you have to think happy thoughts to use them?"

Lydia slapped Jackson's shoulder before stepping forward, her eyes trained on the wings that were fluttering madly behind him, "He is partially on to something. Fairy?"

Stiles nodded hesitantly and shifted away from her curious fingers, a move that had her eyes narrowing, "Yeah. My ah," He cleared his throat, "My dad is human but my mom…I'm a half-breed. That's where I was for the last two weeks," His eyes cut to Erica before he looked back at Lydia, "With my aunt and grandfather, learning about it."

"Hmm," Lydia cocked her head, "There are different breeds of fairy. You're still normal sized, so none of the smaller ones…Sidhe? Well, a descendent of some kind as Sidhe left this realm several centuries ago."

"I don't know," Stiles said, pulling his wings back into their pockets and throwing his shirt on, "My aunt didn't really get into that before…" Stiles took a deep breath, "Look, the reason I'm here is because I need the pack's help and Derek agreed."

"With what? Flying lessons?" Jackson laughed.

"No, you…you _asshole_. My aunt was murdered on Friday and I need the packs help to protect my cousin," he looked at the group, eyes scanning each face, "I wouldn't be here otherwise. Because as Jackson was so thoughtful to point out two weeks ago, I'm not pack. Even if Derek wants me in now, becoming pack is on me because Fairies can only bond with other species through their own magic. So if it wasn't for Quinton, I would quite happily tell you all to shove it up your asses. I am not a goddamn verbal and emotional punching bag!"

He took a deep breath and locked eyes with Derek, who nodded at him before speaking, "We will help Stiles and all of you will get over yourselves. Our priority is keeping Quin alive, do you understand me? Even if this is just precautionary and the threat is imagined, not real, you will treat it like Quinton could be attacked tomorrow."

Five heads nodded in perfect synchrony. Isaac gave Stiles a wobbly smile, "I knew you were pack and I hope you decide to be again. Derek was less of a grouch for those few months. It was nice. I, uh, I felt the bond break too, you know. It's kinda obvious that it's still missing…feels like something went wrong with the break."

Derek shot Isaac a proud look, knowing that that meant that Isaac fully trusted his alpha before narrowing his eyes at him in concern. It had been an odd statement on Isaacs's part. Still, Stiles smiled, "Thank you, Isaac."

"Scott, bring in Quinton," Derek said, before looking the group over, apparently deciding to wait on what Isaac said for now, "We need to scent him as much as possible. Not only that but learn _his_ smell. I want you to know it so well you could find him in a landfill."

Scott walked in the door then, with Quinton on his back in what seemed to be becoming a favorite spot. The five year old spotted Stiles and started squirming, "Stiles!"

Stiles reached out and pulled Quinton into his arms, nuzzling the boy's temple when Quinton burrowed into his neck with a sigh. Stiles looked at Quinton for a moment, noticing his blond spiky hair was visible, before glancing at Scott with a raised eyebrow, "Where's his…"

As if he knew what Stiles was talking about, Quinton sat up and turned his upper body to Scott, arms outstretched and fingers opening and closing, "'dora!"

Scott handed the hat over, watching in amusement as Quinton popped it on his head before curling back into Stiles, "He was running around the yard, chasing some birds. He wanted me to hold it so it wouldn't fly away."

"Holy crap, it's a miniature Stilinski," Jackson muttered, "What, you suddenly have a baby to dress and decided the world needed another you?"

"Ah, well, _there _is one person Quinton will never like because Jackson will never apologize to him," Stiles muttered to Scott out of the side of his mouth just as Quinton gave a miniature growl quite reminiscent of Derek.

"Not a baby!" he lisped, before crossing his arms.

Hopefully Jackson was never alone with Quinton, because that would be a shit storm. A pouty Jackson was horrible to deal with and God would he pout at being outsmarted by a little boy just out of toddlerhood.

"He's five and dresses himself for the most part, thank you very much," Stiles added, "I have very little say in his choice of attire."

"What's with the fedora?" Isaac asked, sounding as if he had been inspired. A terrifying thought, given his love affair with scarves.

"Ah, that was my first gift to him. It was intended as a joke, to make my aunt laugh the night he was born, because her husband had had a collection of them that he never wore but claimed sentimental attachment to so she wouldn't throw them away. Q just took a strong liking to it a few years ago and formed something of a connection to it," Stiles said with a smile.

"So, what's going on then?" Erica asked, her hip cocked backwards and her fingers clenched like she was forcing herself not to grab Quinton out of Stiles arms and run. Her posture, to anyone outside the pack, could be portrayed as hostility, but Stiles could easily read the soft look on her face.

Stiles shook his head minutely, "First off, introductions. Q, know how Derek is a werewolf?"

Quinton nodded with a laugh, "He's the cuddly wolf, yes."

Derek's face flushed slightly as the rest of the pack snickered. Stiles chuckled himself before continuing, "Right. Well, the rest of the people in this room are his pack. A pack is a…a family, basically," He added when Quinton made a questioning noise at the unfamiliar term, "That's Erica, Boyd, Isaac," He turned slightly so Quinton could see everyone, "Jackson, and Lydia."

Quinton gave them all a small wave, "Hi," He said, eyeing the group. His eyes landed on Lydia and he grinned, "You have pretty hair."

"Jesus Christ, he _is_ a miniature Stilinski," Jackson grumbled, dropping back onto the couch.

Lydia smiled and gave her hair a small flip, "Thank you Quinton," She cocked her head, "So do we get an explanation?" She asked, her eyes flicking to Derek.

Derek nodded, "Scott, you are already aware of what's going on. Will you take Quinton to the family room out back so we can talk?"

"Sure," Scott said, plucking Quinton out of Stiles arms and tucking him under his own like Quinton was a football, "Come on short stuff. Let's go find a movie to watch."

They watched Quinton squirm around in glee, "Nemo!"

"Err, maybe," Scott said, his voice showing his skepticism as he left the room. It was quite unlikely that Derek owned _Finding Nemo_.

Stiles just shook his head and dropped down onto the recliner he had claimed after the house was finished, everyone else following suit back into their previous spots.

"Okay, can you start from the beginning?" Derek asked.

Stiles rolled his eyes, for what had to have been the twentieth time in the last twenty minutes. This group, honestly, "Okay, about six years ago, my two uncles were killed in Afghanistan. One of them was my aunt's husband, the other was her brother. When word came back she…well, she kind of went off the deep end. Not only was her husband killed but she had always been pretty close to her brother as well, so she felt the loss pretty heavy, especially so soon after my mom's and the Hales deaths. She started going out, drinking heavy, that sort of thing. One thing led to another and she met Quinton's sperm donor at some bar in San Francisco. They had a hot and heavy affair, but he was controlling and abusive. The last straw was when she saw him change forms, from man into a horse.

"When she figured out that he was a kelpie, and a dangerous one at that, she ran. Went up to Washington to live with my grandfather. A few weeks later she found out she was pregnant with Q," Stiles paused and took a shuddering breath, "Friday, Quinton's donor managed to find my aunt and he…well….he killed her. Quinton is a half-breed like me, except half fairy-half kelpie. Just thinking about it, it's kind of a dangerous combination. Half breeds are very different than full breeds and Quinton is a mix of two powerful species. If his Donor found out about him and got to him…" He trailed off, worrying his lip.

"He's still young enough to be brainwashed and children are very easily broken," Lydia said, eyes glancing towards the hall, "I'll do some research in the bestiary, see what I can find on Kelpies. Oh," Lydia turned to Stiles, "Do you have a name? What he looks like? Because he might have a record if he was abusive."

"Uhm, his name is Alex. I don't know anything more than that. I can do you one better than a description though, hang on," Stiles stood and ran out to the car, digging his backpack out of the trunk.

He fished out his sketchbook and tossed his bag back in the trunk. He turned on his heal but paused, looking down at the book. Okay, no, he wasn't going to do this. Not the whole book. He wasn't quite ready for that and the group in there had an insatiable curiosity. They would probably wreck the drawings, trying to get a look at them. Not to mention, well…drawings were a personal thing for him and he wasn't quite ready to let them out there. Not yet. The one of Alex was bad enough.

He opened the book to the last page, where Alex's twisted mug was staring back up at him. It was an amazing likeness, given that Stiles had only gotten a ten second view of him before he changed into his horse form. Stiles sighed and ripped the page out before dropping the book onto the front seat through the open window before jogging back into the house.

"Here, this is Alex," Stiles handed the drawing to Lydia, "I, um, drew it up last night. Figured it would be a good idea for the pack to know what he looked like."

Lydia hummed as she looked at the drawing, not an ounce of shock on her face at the idea that Stiles drew the picture, "Well, he's certainly a good looking man on the surface…but there is something so very ugly about his eyes."

Jackson leaned over Lydia's shoulder, snorting when he took in the drawing, "Yeah, right, you drew this," He said, the sarcasm practically dripping.

Stiles wrapped his arms around his chest, but straightened his back, "What, you think I just grabbed a picture off the internet?"

Jackson laughed, "I wouldn't put it past you."

"You kidding me? Show Derek. He'll confirm that that is Alex. Besides, why the hell would I put my cousin at jeopardy like that?"

Derek stood and slipped the paper from Lydia's fingers, "This is him," He glanced at Stiles as he passed the paper off, "That is impressive."

Stiles nodded his thanks before looking back at Jackson, "You make a shit werewolf."

Jackson growled and stood up, "What did you just say to me?"

Stiles uncrossed his arms and clenched his fists, "You heard me. You're shit at observation. If you had looked closer at the drawing, you would have noticed not only the perforated edges, but the texture of the paper, which is coarse and not smooth like printer paper. Also, that it was drawn in charcoal and was smeared around the edges. You can't do any of that with a picture printed off a computer."

"Well, you can, it's called Photoshop, but in this case Stiles is right," Lydia held up her fingers, which had a tint of black on them, "Dust rub off. That's a fresh drawing. Not to mention, the perforated edges would jam a printer."

"Can we get back on track, please?" Erica asked, handing the drawing back to Lydia.

"I'll give this to Danny, have him see if he can find anything on the guy. Known whereabouts, newspaper mentions, that sort of thing," Lydia said, carefully laying the paper down on the side table, "If we get enough information, we might be able to track him."

"Good idea," Derek said with a nod, "Let's go join Scott and Quinton. You can start getting to know his scent. Stiles, help me in the kitchen first."

Stiles held back a groan. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready to be alone with Derek right now, never mind that the wolves would be a few rooms away, "Sure."

TBC….


End file.
